GIFT   OF 
Class   of  1887 


A  POOR  AMERICAN 

-IN- 

IRELAND  AND  SCOTLAND 


BY 

WINDY  BILL 


to 
/ 


W.  S.  VAN  COTT  &  COMPANY 

516  MISSION  STREET 
SAN  FRANCISCO,  CALIFORNIA 


Copyright,  1913,  by  BEN  GOODKIND 
Published  in  February,    1913 


\ 


CONTENTS 


Chapter  Page 

I— Billy  and  1 5 

II — -Ho    for    California 25 

III — As   Regards    Hoboes 40 

IV— On    to    Frisco 49 

V — 3an    Francisco 65 

VI — Doing    Frisco 68 

VII— Billy  and  I   Chat 78 

VIII— Beating  It  Overland 94 

IX— Niagara    Falls 127 

X— My  Buffalo  Sweetheart 130 

XI— New  York   City 134 

XII— Henrietta 139 

XIII— I  Secure  a  Job 143 

XIV — Steerage   to   Glasgow 148 

XV— The  Debut  in  Scotland 170 

XVI— Glasgow 175 


931829 


CONTENTS  (Continued) 


Chapter  Page 

XVII— Getting  a  Square  Meal 184 

XVIII— Looking  for  a  Furnished  Room 188 

XIX— Doing   Glasgow 193 

XX— Dancing  in  the  Green .196 

XXI— Taking  in  a  Show 202 

XXII— "Ta-ta,    Glesgie" 209 

XXIII— Edinburgh 217 

XXIV— Holyrood    Palace 227 

XXV— I  Seek  Work  in  Edinboro 233 

XXVI— Sir  Walter   Scott 239 

XXVII— Stirling    Castle 246 

XXVIII— Perth,  Dundee,  Arbroath 252 

XXIX— Off  for  Ireland 257 

XXX— Belfast 263 

XXXI— Portrush 274 

XXXII— Londonderry 279 


CHAPTER  I. 
BILLY  AND  I 

Stranger,  will  you  please  permit  me  to  give  you  an  in- 
troduction to  a  very  particular  friend  of  mine — Little  Billy? 

Little  Billy  and  I  had  been  on  the  bum  togeth?r  a  lonjr 
while,  and  had  prospected  for  gold  and  other  things  in  Uta,h, 
Nevada,  Mexico,  Arizona  and  several  other  states  and  territor- 
ies, but  somehow  we  never  struck  it  rich.  We  had  lots  of  ad- 
ventures, though,  some  of  which  were  pretty  lively  and  inter- 
esting, but  I  cannot  stop  to  relate  them  here,  for  this  book  is 
written  for  another  purpose. 

One  adventure  we  had,  however,  I  will  relate,  for  as  it 
proved  mighty  interesting  to  us  it  may  also  prove  so  to  others. 
It  concerned  two  young  girls,  and  it  took  Billy  and  I  a  long 
time  to  get  over  it,  for  adventures  of  that  kind  were  few 
with  us. 

One  beautiful  October  morning  Billy  and  I  started  out  to 
walk  from  Ogden  to  Salt  Lake  City,  a  distance  of  about  thirty- 
seven  miles,  and  as  we  had  a  little  money  in  our  pockets, 
which  we  had  earned  by  laboring  in  the  harvest  fields,  we  felt 
happy  and  independent,  for  what  we  had  earned  we  had  come 
by  fairly  and  were  beholden  to  nobody  for.  The  weather  was 
fine,  cool  and  sunny,  and  it  infected  our  spirits  to  a  high  de- 
gree. We  talked  and  laughed  aloud,  whistled  or  sang  as  the 
mood  came  over  us.  The  country  through  which  we  were 
walking  was  fine,  for  it  was  dotted  with  grain  fields,  meadows, 
orchards,  snug  farm-houses,  and  here  and  there  along  the 
road  side,  by  shade  trees. 

"Say  Billy,"  said  I  to  my  chum,  "these  Mormon  fellows 
have  got  good  taste.  See  the  snug  farm-houses  they've  got, 


will  you;  the  fine  orchards,  the  splendid  fields  and  all  the 
other  nice  things.  W^sh  I  was  a  Mormon.  I  wouldn't  mind 
liviai?.  in  a  ^ou-atry  like  this.  It's  mighty  snug  and  cosy." 

"It  surely  is  fine.  Windy,"  retorted  Billy,  "but  I  don't 
1  i  <  \  '\  .it  -ili-  •-•  \\\  like  to-be  a  Mormon  or  not.  Does  a  fellow 
have  to  marry  a  lot  of  women  if  he  is  a  Mormon?" 

"I  don't  know,  Billy.  If  he  does,  then  I  wouldn't  want 
to  be  one.  I  wouldn't  mind  marrying  a  girl  or  two,  one  for 
every  day  and  one  for  Sunday,  but  two  is  company  and  three 
is  a  crowd.  Two  will  do  me.  But  how  about  the  mother-in- 
laws?  Is  a  mother-in-law  thrown  in  every  time  a  fellow  mar- 
ries a  girl?" 

"Search  me,  Windy;  I  don't  know.  If  the  mother-in-law 
is  thrown  in  every  time,  it's  tough.  No  Mormonism  in  .mine, 
thank  you.  They  say  Brigham  Young  had  twenty-eight  wives. 
He  must  have  been  "a  lustful,  liquorish  old  codger,  and  if  one 
fellow  has  so  many  I  wouldn't  think  there'd  be  enough  to  go 
around.  I've  heard  that  the  Mormons  are  dead  stuck  on 
apples,  cider  and  ladies.  I  wonder  if  that's  so." 

"I  guess  there's  some  truth  in  it,  Billy,  but  I  don't  see  what 
one  chap  wants  so  many  wives  for.  Ain't  two  or  three,  or 
half  a  dozen  enough?" 

"Does  he  have  to  support  them  all,  Windy?" 

"Sure  thing,  son.  The  women  can't  live  on  air  and  scen- 
ery, can  they?'' 

"Well,  hardly,"  responded  Billy.  "Guess  I  won't  join  the 
Mormon  Church  just  yet." 

"Wait  till  you  make  a  strike  and  get  some  money  ahead, 
then  you  can  sail  in  and  try  your  luck  with  a  few  wives." 

"All  right,  Windy.  Let  it  be  understood  though,  that  I 
don't  take  in  the  mother-in-laws.  I  like  peace  and  quietness 
in  my  home,  I  do." 

Talking  thus  in  a  joking  or  blustering  way,  we  walked 
along  until  about  noon-time  when  we  came  to  a  clump  of 
trees  along  the  road-side  which  afforded  a  pleasant  resting 
place.  Between  the  trees  rushed  a  deep  irrigating  ditch  which, 
was  spanned  by  a  substantial  stone  viaduct. 


We  unslung  our  blankets  from  our  shoulders,  dropped  them 
on  the  sward  beside  iis  and  sat  down  on  the  convenient 
stump  of  a  tree.  There  were  no  houses  in  the  immediate 
vicinity,  though  there  was  an  orchard  not  far  away,  in  about 
the  center  of  which  stood  a  commodious  old  farm-house.  On 
the  other  side  of  the  road  were  fields  from  which  the  corn 
had  just  been  harvested  and  was  shocked  up  on  the  ground. 

After  regarding  our  surroundings  for  a  moment  or  two, 
we  brought  forth  a  generous  lunch  which  we  had  brought 
with  us,  had  a  royal  feast,  and  washed  it  down  with  draughts 
of  water  from  the  irrigating  ditch.  The  ditch-water  was  clear 
and  cool,  but  it  looked  as  if  there  might  be  some  earthen 
sediment  in  it.  For  this,  though,  we  did  not  care.  A  little 
dirt  more  or  less  never  harmed  us. 

After  we  had  eaten  and  drank  our  fill  we  pulled  forth 
our  pipes  and  indulged  in  a  smoke,  chatting  in  the  mean- 
while; soon  afterward  we  lay  down  and  indulged  in  a  sleep 
for  an'  hour  or  two.  It  was  about  three  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon when  we  awoke,  and  we  concluded  then  to  continue  our 
journey  toward  Salt  Lake.  Just  as  we  were  getting  ready  to 
leave  we  noticed  two  girls  coming  toward  us  from  the  direc- 
tion of  Salt  Lake.  We  sat  down  again  and  took  notice  im- 
mediately. We  wondered  why  two  young  ladies  would  be 
wandering  all  alone  along  the  public  road.  "Are  they  farm- 
ers' wives,  school  girls,  farmers'  daughters,  or  what?"  thought 
we. 

"Say  Billy,  I  guess  we  may  be  in  for  a  little  joy.  Let's 
brace  them,"  suggested  I. 

"What  for?"  petulantly  responded  Billy.  "We  might  get 
into  trouble." 

"Trouble?"  echoed  I  in  derision.  "What  trouble  could  we 
get  into  by  talking  to  two  girls?  If  they  don't  want  to  talk 
to  us  they  can  keep  a  moving,  can't  they?  I'm  going  to  brace 
them.  You  keep  mum,  if  you  like." 

As  the  young  ladies  came  nearer  to  us  we  observed  that 
they  were  about  seventeen  or  eighteen  years  of  age,  that 
they  were  dressed  in  calico  garments  and  that  they  carried 


books  in  their  hands.  Their  skirts,  which  reached  to  their 
shoe  tops  were  slightly  blown  aside  occasionally  by  the 
breeze  as  they  walked,  revealing  glimpses  of  sturdy  ankles. 
The  taller  one  of  the  two  was  a  blonde  with  an  abundance 
of  yellow  hair  and  features  that  were  charming.  She  had 
blue  eyes,  a  milk-white  complexion,  fine  teeth  and  a  shape 
that  was  alluring. 

The  other  girl  was  somewhat  shorter  in  stature  and  was 
what  might  be  called  a  demi-blonde,  for  her  hair  was  of  a 
chestnut  hue;  her  eyes  were  hazel  in  hue,  her  ears  small  and 
her  countenance  round  and  full  like  a  harvest  moon,  but, 
she  too,  was  graceful  in  build,  and  showed  in  every  form  and 
feature,  like  her  companion,  that  she  was  country-bred.  Both 
were  strong,  sturdy  and  healthy. 

The  young  ladies  were  talking  and  laughing  aloud  as  they 
advanced  toward  us,  and  the  one  with  the  hazel  eyes,  when 
she  laughed,  squealed  like  a  young  colt.  A  lively  and  merry 
lass  was  she,  a  romp  and  a  hoyden,  I  thought,  and  if  she  is 
not  a  born  coquette  and  heart-smasher,  then  I  miss  my  guess. 

As  I  regarded  these  two  visions  of  lovliness  my  heart 
went  pit-a-pat,  and  I  was  smitten.  I  really  don't  know  which 
one  I  liked  the  best,  though  they  were  both  enticing.  I  am 
dark  and  fancy  blondes,  but,  other  colors  fascinate  me,  too. 

I  sure  was  somewhat  frustrated,  and  as  to  Billy,  I  don't 
know  how  he  felt,  for  my  eyes  were  rivited  on  the  girls  and 
not  on  him.  I  have  always  been  a  susceptible  chap  as  regards 
the  girls,  and  it  never  took  me  long  to  lose  my  head  com- 
pletely or  to  make  a  fool  of  myself  when  in  their  company. 
Billy,  though,  was  reserved,  cold  and  distant  (at  first),  but 
when  once  he  got  started  he  showed  himself  to  be  a  bigger 
fool  than  I  am.  He  just  threw  up  his  hands  and  surrendered 
unconditionally.  A  girl  could  do  anything  she  liked  with  him. 

When  the  girls  reached  the  spot  where  we  were  sitting, 
I  pulled  off  my  hat  by  way  of  salute  and  timidly  said,  ''good 
day,  ladies!" 

"How  de  do,"  responded  the  demi-blonde  heartily,  with  a 
smile,  for  she  saw  that  I  was  flustrated. 


"This  is  a  lovely  day?"  queried  I. 

'Indeed  it  is,"  responded  she. 

"Fine  country  around  here,"  volunteered  I. 

"Yep,"  responded  she. 

The  ice  being  broken  and  the  conversation  fairly  started, 
it  was  kept  up,  until  finally  at  a  shy  hint  from  me,  the  girls 
sat  down  near  us,  the  demi-blonde  near  me  and  the  blonde 
near  Billy. 

Bye-and-bye  Billy  and  the  blonde  moved  some  distance 
away  from  us,  where  they  were  soon  absorbed  in  conversation, 
so  I  had  the  other  charmer  all  to  myself.  This  is  what  we 
had  to  say  to  each  other: 

"Do  you  live  around  here?"  queried  I. 

"About  half  a  mile  from  here,"  answered  she. 
*     "Just  coming  from  school?" 

"Yep,"   laconically  responded  she. 

"What  do  your  folks  do?" 

"Ranch,"  she  said. 

"Do  you  like  living  on  a  ranch?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  she  snapped.  "I  hate  it.  What  fun  is  there 
on  a  ranch?  Nothing  to  see,  nowhere  to  go,  the  same  old 
thing  all  the  time." 

"Why,  don't  they  give  any  dances  or  parties  around  here9" 
asked  I. 

"Oh,  only  once  in  a  while,"  responded  she  in  a  tired  way. 
"Once  in  a  great  while  I  go  to  a  dance  in  Ogden  or  Salt  Lake, 
or  to  the  skating  rink,  and  that's  about  all  the  fun  I  have. 
Wish  I  could  live  in  Salt  Lake  or  Ogden.  I'm  sick  of  this  old 
place."  ' 

"Well,  it  must  be  kind  of  lonely  for  you.  May  I  ask  what 
your  name  is?" 

"My  name  is  Annie.    What's  yours?" 

"My  name  is  Windy  Bill." 

The  young  girl  looked  at  me  to  see  if  I  were  trifling  with 
her,  but  when  she  saw  that  I  was  not,  she  turned  her  head 
aside,  snickered  and  then  broke  out  into  peals  of  laughter.  I 


10 

didn't  know  that  I  had  said  anything  funny,  so  I  asked  her 
what  she  was  laughing  at. 

"That  name  of  yours,  of  course.  It's  a  horrid  one.  Where 
did  you  get  it?" 

"Oh,  I'm  a  great  talker  and  when  I  get  started  I  don't 
know  enough  sometimes  to  stop,  so  as  my  front  name  is 
William,  or  Bill,  somebody  nick-named  me  Windy  Bill,  and 
that  name  has  clung  to  me  ever  since." 

"If  it  were  mine,  I  think  I'd  a  changed  it.  It  isn't  a  nice 
name  at  all." 

"How  am  I  going  to  change  it?  That's  been  my  name  for 
years  and  that's  what  every  one  calls  me.  May  be  it  will  be 
changed  some  day  when  I  get  married,"  said  I,  jokingly. 

"I  don't  think  any  one  would  marry  a  man  with  such  a 
name  as  that.  I  am  quite  sure  I  wouldn't." 

"Pardon  me  for  asking;   are  you  ladies  Mormons?" 

"Yes,  we  both  are;  and  so  is  almost  every  one  else 
around  here.  Utah  is  a  Mormon  state,  you  know." 

"Is  every  one  in  Utah  a  Mormon?" 

"No  indeed,"  replied  the  young  lady.  "There  are  more 
gentiles  than  Mormons." 

"Is  it  true  that  a  Mormon  can  have  all  the  wives  he 
wants  ?" 

"No,  it  isn't.  It  is  against  the  law  to  have  more  than 
one  wife,  and  the  Mormons  are  a  law-abiding  people." 

"I've  heard  that  some  Mormons  have  several  wives  on  the 
sly.  Is  that  true?" 

"No,  it  is  not,"  responded  the  young  lady,  reddening  with 
anger.  "Some  people  have  very  little  to  do,  telling  stories 
about  the  Mormons.  If  those  kind  of  people  were  to  mind 
their  own  business  they  would  get  along  much  better  than 
they  do.  It  has  always  been  the  fashion  with  some  people 
to  fib  about  the  Mormons  and  to  run  them  down,  and  to  say 
ill-natured  things  about  them,  but  the  Mormons  go  along  and 
mind  their  business  and  don't  interfere  with  anyone,  so  I 
don't  see  why  others  can't  attend  to  theirs!" 

"Well,  miss,  please  forgive  me.    I  am  only  asking  for  in- 


11 

formation.  I  don't  know  much  about  the  Mormon  business. 
I'm  told  that  when  a  Mormon  marries  a  girl  she  gets  sealed 
to  him.  Is  that  so?" 

"I'd  advise  you  to  get  married  yourself  and  find  out,1'  an- 
swered the  girl  sharply. 

"Oh,  don't  get  mad.    I  don't  mean  any  harm,"  said  I. 

"I'm  not  angry,"  replied  the  young  lady,  "but  I  do  hate 
to  hear  the  Mormons  fibbed  about." 

"I've  been  told,"  persisted  I,  "that  when  Mormons  get 
married  they  get  sealed  to  each  other  in  the  Temple  at  Salt 
Lake  in  a  secret  chamber.  Is  that  so?" 

"Young  man,  you're  far  too  inquisitive,  and  I  think  you 
had  better  look  for  information  some  where  else,"  angrily  ex- 
claimed the  young  lady. 

With  that  she  arose  and  declared  that  she  would  have 
to  go  home. 

"Christeenah,"  shrilled  she  to  her  companion,  "it's  get- 
ting late  and  we'd  better  be  going!" 

"All  right,"  shrieked  back  Christeenah.     "I'm  a  coming!" 

I  had  grieviously  offended  Miss  Annie,  but  I  knew  not  how, 
for  I  was  only  seeking  information  and  did  not  know  that  I 
had  said  any  thing  to  hurt  her  feelings.  I  felt  heartily  sorry 
now,  for  the  girl's  good  looks  and  cleverness  had  made  an 
impression  upon  me  and  I  hated  to  see  her  depart.  I  wanted 
to  draw  her  out  more,  and  to  indulge  in  a  little  love  making- 
had  she  permitted,  but  I  had  spoiled  it  all.  I  felt  down-hearted 
for  a  few  moments,  but  this  feeling  soon  gave-  way  to  anger, 
for  if  the  girl  wanted  to  get  mad  about  nothing,  she  was  wel- 
come to  do  so  and  be  blowed  to  her. 

Billy  had  to  break  away  from  his  charmer,  too,  and  he 
was  mighty  loth  to  do'it.  He  told  me  afterward  that  Chris- 
teenah was  a  loving  girl,  and  that  she  had  let  him  squeeze  her 
hand  and  kiss  it,  but  that  was  as  far  as  she  would  let  him  go. 
She  was  the  most  beautiful  girl  he  had  ever  seen  he  said. 

"Say,  Billy,  let's  us  join  the  Mormon  Church  and  marry 
them  two  girls,"  said  I,  to  see  what  Billy  would  say. 


12 

"Join  nothing,"  responded  Billy.  "I  aint  no  Mormon  and 
I  don't  intend  to  become  one.  That  girl  was  mighty  tempt- 
ing, though,"  reflectively  added  he,  with  a  grave  countenance 
and  far-away  gaze.  "Darned  if  I  wouldn't  like  to  marry  her." 

The  dear  creatures  had  gone  and  left  us.  We  thought- 
fully continued  our  journey  toward  Salt  Lake,  thinking- 
thoughts  unutterable  and  not  saying  much,  but,  bye-and-bye 
our  gay  spirits  returned  to  us,  for  what  was  the  '.ise  of  feel- 
ing blue. 

As  we  were  good  walkers  it  did  not  take  us  long  to  reach 
Salt  Lake  City,  and  we  did  not  have  to  walk  all  the  distance 
either,  for  a  hay  wagon  came  along  with  the  driver  perched 
on  a  high  seat  in  the  front  part  of  the  wagon,  and  he  stopped 
his  team  and  asked  us  if  we  wanted  a  ride.  We  told  him, 
yes,  and  climbed  up  on  the  seat  beside  him.  He  was  going 
to  Salt  Lake,  he  told  us,  and  during  the  two  hours  that  we 
spent  in  his  company  we  had  quite  a  chat  with  him. 

When  asked  the  question,  he  informed  us  that  he  was  a 
Mormon,  and  from  the  information  he  gave  us,  we  could  un- 
derstand that  he  was  quite  well-to-do  and  pretty  high  up  in 
the  Church.  Some  of  the  questions  we  put  to  him  made  him 
smile,  but  he  answered  them  frankly  and  good-naturedly.  He 
was  a  handsome  man,  about  thirty-five  or  there-about,  had  a 
black  mustache,  agreeable  features  and  manners,  and  was  a 
farmer.  He  was  going  to  Salt  Lake  to  make  some  purchases, 
he  told  us. 

It  was  about  seven  o'clock  when  we  got  into  Salt  Lake, 
and  as  we  were  hungry,  the  first  thing  we  did  was  to  hunt 
up  a  restaurant  where  we  had  a  satisfactory  meal  for  fifty 
cents  for  the  both  of  us.  After  a  smoke  and  a  little  saunter 
through  the  streets,  we  hunted  up  a  rooming  house.  There 
we  obtained  a  large,  well-furnished  room  with  a  large  bed  in 
it  for  the  two  of  us  for  four  bits — fifty  cents. 

We  awoke  bright  and  early  the  next  morning  feeling 
happy  as  clams  at  high  tide  and  soon  we  were  ready  for  put- 
ting in  a  day  of  sight-seeing  and  enjoyment. 


13 

Salt  Lake  is  a  pretty  large  city,  the  capitol  of  Mormon- 
dom,  and  lies  in  a  snug  valley,  surrounded  by  fairly  lofty,  but 
rather  bare  mountains.  The  streets  are  wide  and  well  shaded, 
through  some  of  them  run  brooks  of  clear  mountain  water, 
it  contains  many  business  streets,  and  fine  residences.  A 
great  many  of  the  people  are  Mormons,  but  there  are  many 
who  are  not.  All,  however,  seem  to  get  along  together  ami- 
cably enough.  The  Mormons  have  learned  long  ago  that  they 
cannot  have  the  whole  state  of  Utah  to  themselves,  so  they 
treat  the  gentile  courteously.  Utah  is  a  large  state  covering 
a  great  deal  of  territory,  but  today  (1913)  it  does  not  contain, 
all  told,  half  a  million  of  people — about  400,000  is  nearer  the 
mark. 

There  is  a  great  deal  of  space  fenced  in  about  the  won- 
derful Mormon  Temple  in  Salt  Lake,  the  grounds  of  which 
are  laid  out  tastefully  in  trees,  shrubs  and  flowers,  but  as  it 
requires  some  red  tape  to  get  into  the  Temple,  Billy  and  I 
concluded  not  to  go  in.  There  is  a  Tithing  House  connected 
with  the  Temple,  we  were  informed,  in  which  every  Mormon 
is  obliged  to  go  occasionally  to  offer  up  a  tithe  of  his  earnings 
to  help  support  the  Church.  This  is  a  duty  which  no  Mormon 
must  fail  in,  for  if  he  does  he  will  be  regarded  with  disfavor 
and  soon  get  into  bad  standing  with  his  co-religionists.  There 
is  a  Tithing  House  in  Ogden,  too,  and  in  every  other  Mormon 
settlement,  however  small  or  large,  I  believe. 

The  Mormons  are  clever  people,  and  in  almost  every  way 
are  like  others,  except  in  the  matter  of  religion  and  in  a  few 
other  respects.  They  follow  the  strict  text  of  the  old  testa- 
ment, which  says  that  they  can  have  all  the  wives  and  concu- 
bines they  want,  but  the  United  States  law  steps  in  and  says 
that  they  can  have  only  one  wife,  for  if  they  have  more  than 
one,  that  constitutes  polygamy  which  is  contrary  to  the  sta- 
tutes made  and  provided.  Under  these  circumstances  the 
poor  Mormons  are  in  a  quandary,  for  if  they  follow  the  strict 
teachings  of  their  bible,  they  will  get  into  trouble  with  the 
United  States  authorities,  and  if  they  do  not  follow  the  teach- 
ings of  the  good  book,  then  they  are  acting  in  a  reprehensible 


14 

manner,  too.  What  are  the  poor  fellows  to  do  under  these 
circumstances  ? 

I  am  going  to  tell  you  a  little  secret.  Don't  give  me  away, 
please!  They  have  all  the  wives  they  want,  who  get  "sealed"' 
to  them  on  the  sly.  Sh!  Don't  say  I  told  you.  How  do  I 
know  it?  Why,  almost  every  one  in  Salt  Lake  who  is  not  a 
Mormon  will  tell  you  so.  Where  there  is  smoke  there  is  fire, 
but  the  Mormons  deny  strenuously .  and  emphatically  that 
there  is  any  thing  unlawful  going  on  in  their  midst. 

Some  people  think  that  Mormonism  is  dying  out.  It  is 
not.  It  is  spreading.  Today  there  are  Mormon  settlements 
an  Idaho,  Montana  and  other  western  states  and  territories, 
and  more  are  being  established.  Proselyting  is  going  on. 
The  Mormons  are  into  all  kinds  of  enterprises,  such  as  banks, 
railroads,  trusts,  commercial  affairs,  agriculture,  manufactur- 
ing, etc.,  and  many  of  them  are  wealthy.  Some  of  them  can 
support  a  mighty  big  harem,  if  they  chose,  and  many  of  them 
do  so,  no  doubt. 

There  was  Brigham  Young,  for  instance.  He  is  dead 
now,  but  when  he  was  alive  he  was  into  all  kinds  of  enter- 
prises, and  was  a  leader  and  organizer  in  many.  He  was  a 
man  of  wonderful  genius  and  the  true  founder  of  Mormon- 
ism,  one  may  say.  Mormonism  and  Brigham  Young  are 
synonomous  terms,  and  Brigham's  name  will  live  when  that 
of  every  other  Mormon  leader  will  have  been  forgotten. 

Billy  and  I  meandered  around  Salt  Lake  a  great  deal 
during  the  few  days  that  we  spent  there,  and  in  the  saloons 
especially  did  we  learn  a  great  deal  about  Mormonism,  some 
of  which  may  have  been  true  and  some  not.  We  were  told 
that  the  Mormon  women  like  finery  as  well  as  any  one  else, 
and  that  they  were  right  up-to-date  in  that  regard. 

Ogden  is  another  Mormon  town  of  some  consequence,  and 
there  we  went  next.  It  lies  at  the  base  of  the  Wahsatch 
range  of  mountains  and  is  thirty-seven  miles  distant  from 
Salt  Lake. 

Ogden  is  a  railroad  center  and  full  of  restaurants,  over- 
land lunch  places,  rooming  houses,  hotels,  and  the  like.  It 


15 

contains  several  fine  streets  which  are  full  of  handsome,  up- 
to-date  stores.  This  burg,  too,  is  alive  with  Mormons,  and  the 
tabernacle  there  is  a  sight  to  see.  It  is  an  immense  egg- 
shaped  building,  capable  of  holding  ten  thousand  or  more  peo- 
ple, the  interior  being  so  constructed  that  if  one  drops  a  pin 
upstairs,  downstairs,  or  anywhere  else  in  the  building,  one 
can  distinctly  hear  the  noise  of  its  fall  anywhere  within  its 
precincts.  When  Billy  let  a  pin  drop,  he  standing  at  one  end 
of  the  building  and  I  at  the  other,  we  were  mystified. 

As  our  money  was  pretty  nearly  all  gone  by  this  time,  we 
slept  out  several  nights  under  a  cosy  shed  in  a  brick-yard 
with  our  warm  blankets  over  us.  We  liked  this  way  of 
sleeping  just  as  well  as  snoozing  in  a  bed,  and  better,  for 
rooms  are  sometimes  rather  stuffy.  The  outdoor  life  strength- 
ens and  hardens  one,  and  we  felt  fit  for  anything.  We  were 
strong  and  hardy  as  mules  and  could  work  like  them  arid  eat 
like  them,  too. 

It  may  not  be  a  bad  idea  if  I  were  to  give  a  short  de- 
scription of  my  little  partner,  Billy,  here,  so  that  you  may 
get  a  better  idea  of  what  sort  of  an  individual  he  was  like. 
As  regards  myself  I  need  not  say  much,  for  you  will  per- 
ceive what  kind  of  an  individual  I  am  as  this  narrative  pro- 
ceeds. 

Billy  was  an  English  chap,  born  in  the  town  of  York, 
Yorkshire,  after  which  the  the  little  old  town  of  New  York 
City  is  named,  and  a  place  famous  for  Yorkshire  puddings. 
Maybe  you've  heard  of  these  puddings?  I'd  like  to  taste 
one  to  see  what  they're  like.  They  must  be  good  since  they're 
so  famous. 

Billy  was  what  might  be  called  a  strawberry  blonde,  for 
his  hair  was  somewhat  like  the  color  of  a  strawberry,  and 
so  was  his  moustache.  The  little  fellow  was  not  more  than 
about  five  feet  two  in  height,  but  he  was  as  strong  and  tough 
as  wire,  and  his  powers  of  endurance  were  great,  greater  than 
mine,  who  was  taller  than  he.  Billy  was  much  enamoured 
of  that  moustache  of  his,  for  it  was  the  cutest  little  one  ever 
seen.  It  was  not  one  of  the  straggly  kind  with  hairs  sticking 


1G 

out  all  over  it,  but  well  shaped,  neat  and  compact,  with  just 
the  cutest  little  spit-curls  at  either  end  imaginable.  It  was 
a  darling  moustache  and  no  mistake.  Maybe  Billy  wasn't 
proud  of  it!  He  admired  it  hugely,  and  whenever  an  oppor- 
portunity  offered  would  pull  forth  his  lookingglass  from  his 
pocket,  curl  and  fondle  the  moustache,  and  admire  it  to 
his  heart's -content.  Many  a  time  I  bantered  him  about  it 
and  told  him  that  I  wished  I  had  something  like  that;  how 
much  he'd  take  for  it,  etc.,  but  Billy  took  no  heed  of  such 
pleasantries.  He  just  contemplated  himself  in  the  glass  and 
grinned.  And  yet  I  cannot  say  that  the  little  fellow  was 
vain,  for  he  was  not  stuck  on  the  girls  and  would  rather  avoid 
than  meet  them.  Whether  this  was  diffidence  or  reserve, 
I  don't  know. 

Billy  had  blue  eyes,  a  fair  complexion,  and  small  hands 
and  feet,  which  were  in  proportion  to  his  size,  I  suppose. 
Some  people  called  him  "Shorty,"  but  Billy  did  not  like  the 
appelation,  so  I  never  used  it.  He  considered  himself  as 
big  as  anybody  else.  And  so  he  was,  too.  I,  his  partner,  who 
know  him  well,  can  cheerfully  testify  that  he  was  a  man, 
every  inch  of  him,  even  if  his  inches  were  not  so  many. 
Neither  was  he  a  bad-looking  chap,  nor  had  he  a  bad  temper. 
His  disposition  was  an  equable  one,  and  he  never  grew  angry 
unless  I  teased  him  too  much.  Altogether,  he  was  as  nice  a 
little  fellow  as  one  could  find  in  a  day's  travel. 

In  different  places  that  we  had  been  in,  we  had  heard 
miners  speak  of  Virginia  City,  and  what  a  great  old  mining 
camp  it  had  been,  so  we  concluded  to  go  there  and  have  a  look 
at  it.  Virginia  City  was  a  long  way  from  Ogden,  but  that  did 
not  matter  to  us,  for  there  were  railroads  running  in  that 
direction  that  we  could  beat,  therefore,  distance  had  no  ter- 
rors for  us. 

But  I  did  not  finish  my  description  of  Billy,  wholly,  so  I 
had  better  do  so  before  I  proceed  with  my  tale. 

Billy  was  born  and  raised  in  York,  which  lies  somewhere 
north  of  London,  he  told  me,  and  attended  school  in  his 
native  city  until  he  was  nearly  twenty  years  of  age.  His 


.  17 

parents,  who  were  not  educated,  saw  the  advantages  of  an 
education,  and  concluded  to  give  Billy  the  best  there  was 
going.  Had  they  been  able  financially,  they  would  have  sent 
him  to  college,  but  as  they  could  not  afford  to  do  so,  Billy 
had  to  get  along  as  well  as  he  could  without  the  higher  edu- 
cation. 

Billy's  father  died  when  he  (Billy)  was  about  nineteen 
years  of  age,  and  as  he  died  a  poor  man  Billy's  mother  soon 
found  it  difficult  to  make  both  ends  meet.  There  was  a 
daughter  to  provide  for,  too,  so  Billy  was  taken  from  school 
and  apprenticed  to  a  harness-maker.  Apprentices  have  to 
serve  quite  a  number  of  years  in  the  old  country,  and  are 
taught  their  trade  thoroughly,  but  all  the  compensation  Billy 
got  while  learning  was  his  room  and  board  and  a  few  hay- 
pennies  (half-pennies)  occasionally  thrown  in  which  he  spent 
for  meat  pies  or  lollipops  (candy).  The  grub  was  not  near 
as  good  as  he  got  at  home,  nor  was  anything  else,  he  told  me. 

After  Billy  had  .worked  a  couple  of  years  an  idea  began 
to  float  through  his  noddle  that  he  was  not  getting  rich  very 
fast,  so  he  became  dissatisfied  and  concluded  to  skip  out  at 
the  first  opportunity.  He  had  heard  tales  of  how  easy  it  is 
to  get  rich  in  America  or  in  the  colonies,  and  he  told  his 
mother  when  he  visited  her  that  he  wanted  to  go  abroad  and 
get  rich  quick.  She  pooh-poohed  the  idea,  and  told  her  son 
that  he  would  get  rich  quick  enough  at  home  after  he  had 
mastered  his  trade,  but  Billy  could  not  see  it  that  way.  He 
could  see  no  future  before  him  at  all,  for  even  his  master  did 
not  seem  any  too  prosperous,  so  he  kept  on  working  and 
thinking,  and  concluded  to  keep  his  plans  to  himself,  for  no 
one  sympathized  with  them.  He  hated  to  leave  his  mother 
and  sister  who  had  been  so  good  to  him,  but  he  would  get 
rich  for  their  sakes  and  help  them  along.  He  was  ambitious, 
and  proposed  to  satisfy  his  ambition,  come  what  would.  He 
could  make  a  pretty  good  harness,  a  collar  or  a  saddle,  and 
had  acquired  a  pretty  fair  knowledge  of  his  trade,  but  he  was 
not  yet  able  to  do  the  finer  work.  He  did  not  propose  to 


18 

learn  it,  either,  for  he  had  different  objects  in  view.  Old  York 
was  too  slow  for  him  and  so  was  his  apprenticeship.  I 
believe  he  told  me  that  he  was  expected  to  serve  seven  years. 
Billy  slept  at  the  rear  of  his  boss'  shop,  and  it  was  his  duty 
to  get  up  early  in  the  morning  to  sweep  out,  dust  off  the 
shelves,  stock  and  counters,  to  clean  up  generally,  and  have 
the  establishment  in  apple-pie  order  for  business  bright  and 
early.  After  breakfast  it  was  his  wont  to  put  in  a  long  day 
of  work. 

One  morning  when  the  boss  came  down  he  found  the 
shutters  still  up,  the  place  unswept  and  undusted  and  Billy's 
little  cubby-hole  of  a  room  vacant.  Billy's  little  bed  had  not 
been  slept  in,  and  the  boss  stood  there  perplexed  and  bewil- 
dered, wondering  what  had  become  of  the  boy.  He  rushed 
over  to  Billy's  mother  and  asked  her  if  she  knew  where  he 
was,  but  she  told  him  that  she  had  not  the  remotest  idea. 
Suddenly  she  remembered  what  Billy  had  told  her  a  long 
while  ago  about  flitting,  so  she  informed  the  boss  of  her  sus- 
picions. He  became  hopping  mad  then.  He  threatened  to 
have  the  law  on  the  lad  and  to  make  him  suffer  for  his  breach 
of  contract.  But  it  is  usually  well  to  catch  your  bird  before 
you  cook  it.  Billy  had  flown  the  coop  late  at  night  and  by  this 
time  was  over  the  hills  and  far  away,  well  on  his  way  to 
London. 

London  was  a  good  ways  off,  and  seems  longer  when  one 
has  to  hike  it,  but  Billy  declared  that  he  didn't  mind  the 
walk.  The  farther  he  got  away  from  old  York  the  more  de- 
lighted he  became,  for  he  knew  that  the  boss  would  never 
catch  him  now. 

The  poor  little  fellow  had  less  than  an  English  shilling 
(25  cents)  in  his  possession  when  he  left  home,  and  he  de- 
clared that  London  was  several  hundred  miles  away — at 
least  it  seemed  so  to  him.  He  had  a  hard  time  of  it  reaching 
there,  sleeping  out  and  nearly  starving,  but  in  the  end  he 
arrived  in  London  right  side  up  with  care,  and  unmolested 
by  his  boss  or  any  one  else. 


19 

When  he  got  to  London  his  real  troubles  began,  for  this 
place  was  so  big  and  he  was  so  small  that  no  one  took  any 
notice  of  him.  He  was  not  the  only  fellow  who  was  down  and 
out  and  looking  for  work  in  that  big  city,  and  he  got  so  little 
to  eat  and  so  little  to  do  that  he  was  hardly  able  to  cast  a 
shadow.  His  trials  and  tribulations  were  too  many  to  relate 
here,  but  by  hanging  about  the  docks  persistently,  he  finally 
secured  a  job  as  steward  on  an  ocean  liner  which  was  bound 
for  New  York.  Another  man  had  been  hired  for  the  position 
but  he  did  not  show  up,  so  at  the  last  moment  Billy  was 
taken  on.  Billy  had  to  sign  articles  for  the  round  trip  before 
they  would  take  him  on,  and  then  his  pay  was  to  be  only  a 
trifle,  but  he  was  informed  that  there  were  tips  to  be  had  if 
he  knew  how  to  obtain  them.  Billy  did  not  know  how  but 
his  fellow  stewards  gave  him  some  hints,  which  proved  use- 
ful. 

When  he  landed  in  New  York  Billy  had  about  four  dollars 
in  his  possession  derived  from  tips,  and  could  get  no  wages 
unless  he  made  the  round  trip;  this  he  would  not  do.  When 
he  landed  Billy  was  the  worst  green-horn  you  ever  saw,  he 
said,  for  everything  seemed  so  new  and  strange  to  him;  he 
hardly  knew  which  way  to  turn  or  what  to  do.  He  was 
advised  to  walk  from  one  hotel  to  another  and  ask  for  a 
job,  for  that  was  the  likeliest  way  to  obtain  one,  some  one 
advised  him,  and  the  quickest.  He  did  as  he  was  advised,  but 
after  calling  day  after  day  at  such  places  with  no  result,  he 
finally  went  into  a  restaurant  where  a  dishwasher  was  wanted 
and  applied  for  that  position.  He  got  it  and  went  right  to 
work  at  once.  Six  dollars  a  week  was  the  pay,  with  board 
thrown  in,  but  not  room.  The  working  hours  were  from  six 
in  the  morning  until  eight  at  night,  with  three  hours  off,  from 
two  to  five,  in  the  afternoon. 

The  hours  were  long  and  the  work  steady,  but  Billy  did 
not  mind  these  things,  for  he  deemed  the  pay  princely.  One- 
pound-four  a  week!  Why,  it  would  be  years  before  he  could 
earn  that  much  at  home.  He  was  elated,  delighted,  trans- 
ported. He  was  not  sorry  now  that  he  had  left  home.  He 


20 

thought  of  home  constantly,  however,  and  every  cent  that 
he  could  save  was  sent  home  to  his  mother.  That  was  about 
three  dollars  a  week,  which  goes  a  long  ways  in  York — at 
least  so  Billy  told  me,  and  he  ought  to  know. 

Billy  held  the  job  down  several  months  working  faith- 
fully, steadily  and  hard,  but  one  day  a  bum  of  a  waiter 
sassed  him  and  punched  him  in  the  jaw.  Billy  hit  back  and 
then  there  was  a  mix-up.  The  result  was  that  both  got  fired. 
As  some  crockery  was  smashed  in  the  fracas,  the  boss  was 
red  hot  and  told  them  both  to  get  to  hades  out  of  there  in 
a  hurry. 

Billy  hated  to  leave,  for  he  had  only  been  defending  him- 
self, but  no  chance  was  given  him  to  explain.  He  felt  mighty 
blue  and  wretched.  He  shook  the  inhospitable  dust  of  New 
York  from  his  feet  then  and  took  train  for  Philadelphia, 
where  he  soon  secured  a  job  as  waiter  in  a  restaurant.  Here 
he  got  seven  dollars  a  week,  so  that  everything  had  happened 
for  the  best  after  all.  He  held  down  that  job  for  a  year  and 
a  half,  and  then  lit  out  for  the  west  where  fortunes  were  to 
be  made,  he  was  told.  He  beat  his  way  westward,  for  he  had 
sent  the  most  of  his  earnings  home  to  his  mother. 

The  free-and-easy  life  of  the  west  just  suited  Billy,  for 
he  was  seeing  something  new  all  the  time,  though  he  was 
not  getting  rich  very  fast.  The  fact  is,  he  got  sadly  on  the 
bum,  like  yours  truly. 

When  I  run  up  against  him  Billy  was  in  a  hobo  camp  in 
Wyoming,  sitting  at  a  camp  fire  around  which  were  seated 
half  a  dozen  other  'bos  who  were  enjoying  themselves  around 
a  five-gallon  coaloil  can  which  was  hanging  over  a  brisk  fire 
and  in  which  was  simmering  and  boiling  an  aromatic  "mulli- 
gan." I  happened  to  come  along  just  then,  and  as  I  stopped 
to  sniff  the  appetizing  odor  was  invited  to  sit  in  and  partake. 
I  needed  no  second  invitation.  It  was  thus  I  got  acquainted 
with  Billy,  and  it  did  not  take  me  long  to  preceive  that  he 
was  not  a  professional  'bo,  for  he  was  different  from  the 
rest.  We  struck  up  an  acquaintanceship  then  and  there 
which  has  lasted  to  this  day.  Neither  Billy  nor  I  have  struck 


21 

it  very  rich  as  yet,  but  we  are  likely  to  some  day.  We  came 
near  it  several  times,  so  there  is  no  telling  what  the  future 
may  have  in  store  for  us. 

The  distance  from  Ogden  to  Reno  is  several  hundred 
miles  by  rail,  and  leads  through  flat  and  lonely  alkaline 
plains.  We  were  told  by  other  'bos  that  it  is  a  God-forsaken 
country,  and  so  we  found  it,  and  concluded  to  get  over  it  as 
quickly  as  we  could.  We  traveled  by  train,  of  "course,  for 
who  w^ould  hike  it  when  he  can  ride  free?  I  will  say  that 
we  never  paid  railroad  fares,  but  beat  our  way.  Why  pay 
railroad  fares  when  you  don't  have  to?  The  railroads  hire  a 
lot  of  clever  accountants  at  a  high  salary  to  out-figure  the 
people,  so  why  should  not  the  people  out-figure  them?  I 
pause  for  a  reply.  Some  people  may  differ,  especially  rail- 
roaders. 

After  leaving  Ogden  Billy  and  I  rode  through  some  bare 
and  hilly  country  westward  until  we  came  to  where  there 
were  no  more  hills,  only  sage-brush-covered  flat,  alkaline 
prairies  in  which  coyotes,  jackass-rabbits  and  tarantulas 
roamed.  \ 

We  made  the  trip  from  Ogden  to  Reno  part  of  the  way  in 
a  gondola,  which  is  a  sort  of  a  flat  car,  boarded  in  at  the 
sides,  in  which  we  rode  as  far  as  Winnemucca.  This  town  is 
in  Nevada  and  is  named  after  a  Piute  Indian  chief.  There 
we  jumped  off  for  rest  and  refreshment. 

At  Winnemucca  we  jumped  another  freight  train,  which 
took  us  to  Reno,  the  junction  point  for  Virginia  City.  A  rail- 
road called  the  Virginia  and  Truckee  Railroad  runs  from  Reno 
to  Virginia  City,  a  distance  of  about  fifty-two  miles,  and  a 
rare  old  road  she  is.  It  was  built  during  the  bonanza  days  in 
Virginia  City  and  is  one  of  the  crookedest  roads  in  the  coun- 
try, for  it  winds  up  and  around  steep  mountains  to  an  alti- 
tude of  nearly  ten  thousand  feet  and  looks  down  on  chaos. 

In  the  early  mining  days  when  the  Comstock  lode  was 
first  discovered,  Virginia  City  had  a  population  of  close  on  to 
50,000  and  this  road  did  a  big  business,  but  it  is  not  doing  it 


22 

to-day,  for  the  mining  business  in  these  regions  is  in  a  state 
of  desuetude. 

The  newer  mining  camps  of  Nevada,  near  Virginia  City, 
such  as  Bullfrog,  Tonopah,  Goldfield,  Manhattan  and  others, 
are  doing  business,  but  in  their  palmiest  days  they  were 
nothing  compared  with  what  Virginia  City  was.  It  is  said 
that  the  Comstock  lode  was  nothing  more  than  a  mere 
pocket,  but  if  that  be  so,  it  was  a  rich  one,  for  billions  of 
dollars  were  taken  from  it.  Along  the  Comstock  there  are 
famous  mines  such  as  the  Norcross  &  Hale,  Savage,  Best  & 
Belcher,  Consolidated  Virginia,  Opher  and  others,  which  were 
alive  with  wealth  in  their  day,  and  they  are  still  producing 
and  listed  on  the  Stock  Exchange,  but  they  are  not  panning 
out  as  they  used  to  do.  The  large  and  expensive  mill  houses 
still  stand  at  these  famous  mines,  and  are  full  of  costly  min- 
ing machinery  but  there  is  little  or  nothing  doing. 

By  wagon  road  Virginia  City  is  only  twenty-one  miles 
from  Reno,  and  Billy  and  I  debated  whether  we  had  better 
walk  rather  than  beat  our  way  to  Virginia  City,  for  the  V. 
&  T.  R.  R.  did  not  look  good  to  me  for  free  riding.  It  is  a 
narrow  guage  and  carries  only  a  few  cars  and  passengers,  so 
I  couldn't  see  how  we  were  to  beat  it  without  getting  bounced. 

"The  only  way  I  see  to  beat  it,"  said  I  to  Billy,  "is  to 
wait  for  a  freight  train.  To  beat  it  on  a  passenger  is  im- 
possible. What  do  you  say,  Billy,  let's  hike  it.  We  can  start 
early  to-morrow  morning  and  get  to  Virginia  City  in  a  day." 

"There  are  mountains  to  climb,  so  I  guess  I'd  rather  ride 
than  walk.  Wouldn't  you?"  asked  Billy. 

"Guess  you're  right,  son;  but  when  will  we  get  a  train 
out  of  here?" 

"Search  me;  I  don't  know.  We'll  have  to  wait  until  one  is 
made  up;  that's  all  I  can  see." 

"Let's  wait  then,  for  we've  got  lots  more  time  than 
money,"  said  I. 

We  waited  in  Reno  two  days  before  tire  right  kind  of  a 
train  was  made  up  for  our  use.  This  was  a  freight  train, 


23 

composed  of  flat-cars,  wood-cars  and  several  dinky  little  box- 
cars. 

While  looking  about  the  depot  at  Reno  we  had  a  good 
look  at  the  V.  &  T.  locomotives  and  they  pleased  us  mightily. 
They  were  patterned  after  the  locomotives  that  first  came 
into  use  in  the  long  ago,  for  they  had  hoop-like  smokestacks 
that  were  round  as  a  barrel  on  top,  and  shiny  brass  work.  A 
sight  of  them  called  up  in  me  memories  of  the  long  ago, 
when  railroad  cars  were  wholly  different  from  what  they  are 
to-day.  What  changes  time  does  make!  It  did  my  heart 
good  to  see  these  old-time  engines. 

In  the  narrow  passenger  coaches  there  was  a  smoking 
compartment  into  which  we  saw  several  Indian  bucks  and 
squaws  pile.  A  bystander  told  us  that  the  Nevada  Indians 
have  a  right  to  ride  on  any  Nevada  railroad  free  of  charge. 
They  are  privileged  characters.  We  asked  our  informant 
why  this  was  so,  but  he  could  not  inform  us. 

From  Reno  to  Carson  the  route  is  over  fairly  level  sage- 
brush country  through  which  the  Carson  River  winds,  and 
along  which  the  scenery  is  no  great  shakes,  but  as  we  rose 
higher  and  higher  we  saw  things.  We  crawled  by  dizzy  preci- 
pices, the  car  wheels  creaking  dismally  as  we  rounded  curve 
after  curve,  and  panoramas,  of  mountain  tops  began  to  unfold 
themselves  to  our  gaze.  Billy  and  I  held  our  breath  some- 
times, thinking  that  the  cars,  ourselves  and  the  whole  outfit 
would  take  a  tumble  down  some  steep  incline  for  some  of  the 
abysses  were  awful,  but  we  landed  in  Virginia  City  without 
mishap. 

This  delightful  burg  is  perched  on  a  mountain-side  that 
looms  up  over  eight  thousand  feet  high  and  has  three  or  four 
streets  one  above  the  other,  cut  out  from  the  rock  along  the 
mountain-side,  sort  of  terrace  like,  and  one  can  slide  down 
from  one  street  to  another  or  descend  by  means  of  stairways. 
The  main  street  at  one  time  was  a  fine  one,  for  the  drive- 
way is  broad  and  the  wooden  sidewalks  ample  and  traffic 
along  it  was  lively,  but  to-day  the  sidewalks  are  apt  to  fly  up 
and  hit  you  if  you  are  not  careful,  and  the  driveway  is  in 


24 

bad  condition,  ^"ew  vehicles  roll  over  the  driveway  these 
days  and  the  wooden  shacks  along  the  sidewalks  are  apt  to 
tumble  down  if  you  look  at  them  too  hard. 

On  this  street  stands  the  International  Hotel  wherein 
Mackey,  Fair,  Flood,  O'Brien,  and  other  of  the  bonanza  kings 
stopped,  but  to-day  this  famous  caravansery  is  a  four-bit 
house  run  by  a  Chinaman  and  smells  strongly  of  decay. 

As  it  is  situated  so  far  up  on  the  mountain  height,  when 
the  wind  blows  in  Virginia  City  it  blows  with  a  vengeance, 
and  makes  mighty  melancholy  music.  It  sweeps  through  the 
dilapitated  old  shacks  and  moans,  groans,  shrieks  and 
whistles  in  a  way  to  make  a  fellow  feel  as  if  he'd  lost  his 
best  friend.  When  Billy  and  I  heard  one  of  these  mountain 
zephyrs  blowing  we  got  the  blues  so  bad  that  we  had  to  take 
a  drink  to  cheer  up. 

But  what  fine  scenery  can  be  seen  from  Virginia  City! 
Bare  and  lonely  mountain  peaks  extend  in  all  directions  fur- 
ther than  the  eye  could  reach,  and  they  form  an  awe-inspiring 
spectacle.  Many  of  the  peaks  are  higher  than  the  one  on 
which  Virginia  City  is  perched,  and  all  are  linked  together 
in  a  chain.  Here  one  gets  an  idea  of  the  vastness  and  the 
immensity  of  nature. 

On  the  street  below  us  we  saw  a  number  of  Indian  bucks 
who  were  seated  on  the  ground  at  the  edge  of  a  blanket, 
playing  cards.  A  squaw  was  sitting  in  the  game,  too,  and 
was  as  keen  a  gambler  as  the  rest. 

There  is  still  a  little  mining  done  in  Virginia  City  these 
days,  and  all  told  there  may  be  about  5,000  people  in  the  town. 
Nearly  all  the  miners  are  Cornishmen  from  Cornwall,  Eng- 
land, and  they  seem  to  have  a  monopoly  of  the  mining  busi- 
ness. They  are  a  rough  and  ready  set,  rugged,  honest,  but 
clannish.  They  are  hearty  in  their  ways  and  liberal,  if  they 
like  you,  but  if  they  do  not  like  you,  you  might  as  well  pull 
up  stakes  and  go  elsewhere.  Billy,  being  a  Britisher,  took 
to  them  as  naturally  as  do  fleas  to  a  purp,  but  he  couldn't 
get  a  job  for  us,  for  the  idle  miners  were  to  have  first 
chance.  That  let  us  out.  Billy's  countrymen  did  the  next 


best  thing  for  us  though,  they  gave  us  some  money  to  buy 
grub  with.  As  there  were  no  prospects  for  us  in  Virginia  City, 
we  only  remained  there  a  few  days  and  then  beat  our  way 
down  to  Carson  where  we  put  in  a  day  or  two. 


CHAPTER  II. 
HO   FOR  CALIFORNIA 

Carson  is  the  capital  of  Nevada  and  at  one  time  was  a 
lively  place  but  when  the  Comstock  mines  began  to  peter  out, 
it  began  to  dwindle  the  same  as  Virginia  City,  and  much  of  its 
glory  departed,  but  it  is  still  rather  an  interesting  little 
town,  and  full  of  whole-souled  people,  like  Virginia  City. 

My  little  partner  and  I  put  in  a  day  or  two  very  profitably 
in  Carson  viewing  the  state  capital  building,  the  mint,  and 
the  railroad  round-house  from  the  outside.  Though  the  town 
is  rather  pretty  the  surroundings  are  not,  for  the  views  seem 
quite  bare  and  desolate.  We  got  out  of  there  as  soon  as  we 
could  jump  a  train  for  Reno,  which  took  about  two  days. 
We  got  to  Reno  in  good  shape  and  remained  in  that  town  a 
day  or  two  also. 

Reno  is  a  sporty  little  town,  lively  and  wide  awake  and 
right  up-to-date.  It  was  a  town  in  which  gambling  and  di- 
vorces flourished,  and  at  one  time  was  lively  enough  to  suit 
any  one.  Neither  Billy  nor  I  gambled,  for  we  hadn't  the 
wherewithal,  nor  did  either  of  us  need  a  divorce  just  then, 
so  we  did  not  patronize  those  two  home  industries.  We  took 
in  the  gambling  joints,  though,  and  some  other  places,  which 
I  will  describe  more  fully  later  on. 

There  was  a  hobo  camp  near  the  Truckee  River, 
under  a  wagon  bridge,  where  we  made  our  headquarters 
while  in  Reno.  The  camp  was  conveniently  located  about 
a  half  mile  east  of  town  near  the  cattle  corral,  down  a  bank 
alongside  the  river,  and  though  so  near  to  town  it  was  a 


2C 

quiet,  secluded  spot.  It  was  well  patronized  by  hoboes,  for  the 
place  is  well  known  all  over  the  country  to  the  knights  of  the 
road,  who  make  for  it  as  soon  as  they  strike  town.  We  had 
supper  there  and  slept  there  every  night  while  in  Reno. 
Around  the  campfire  those  chilly  November  evenings  we  sat 
and  yarned  after  supper,  relating  our  experiences,  talking 
politics  and  conversing  on  matters  in  general.  Hoboes  like 
to  discuss  politics,  and  they  seem  to  know  a  whole  lot  about 
it.  They  take  a  deep  interest  in  governmental  affairs,  but 
they  do  like  to  knock.  Seldom  do  they  boost.  They  interlard 
their  language  with  strong  oaths  usually,  and  foul  epithets, 
and  to  listen  to  them  you  would  think  they  were  orators  in 
disguise.  They  believe  in  government  ownership  of  rail- 
roads; that  the  rich  are  too  rich  and  the  poor  too  poor;  that 
there  ought  to  be-  a  division  of  wealth,  and  equality  for  all. 
The  world  owes  them  a  living,  they  declare  with  heat,  and 
they  are  going  to  get  it  somehow.  Not  by  work,  though. 
Work  is  no  part  of  their  creed,  for  they  can  get  along  fine 
without  it. 

There  were  four  or  five  knights  of  the  road  who  made 
this  camp  their  headquarters  during  our  stay,  exclusive  of 
ourselves,  which  was  just  about  enough  to  make  things 
sociable.  Too  many  are  undesirable  in  a  camp  for  obvious 
reasons.  The  main  reason  is  that  the  "bulls"  (police)  are  apt 
to  get  on  to  them. 

The  second  evening  during  our  stay  while  seated  around 
a  cheery  blaze  and  yarning,  one  of  the  fellows  mentioned  in- 
cidentally that  a  young  fellow  who  had  been  beating  his  way 
with  a  partner  had  been  run  over  by  a  freight  train  that 
morning  and  killed.  The  poor  fellow  was  only  eighteen  or 
nineteen  years  of  age  and  had  met  a  horrid  death.  The  other 
'bos  cracked  jokes  about  it  in  a  heartless  way  and  were  not 
impressed  by  such  an  awful  occurence  at  all.  Billy  and  I, 
though,  who  had  hearts  in  our  bosoms,  were  shocked  and 
grieved.  The  accident  happened  two  or  three  miles  east  of 
Sparks,  a  suburb  of  Reno,  a  railroad  division  point  of  the 
Southern  Pacific,  and  the  spot  was  not  very  far  away  from 


where  we  then  sat.     While  the  boys  were  talking  about  it  I 
composed  the  following  touching  little  poem  in  memoriam: 

On  the  plains  of  old  Nevada 

One  sad,  November  day, 
A  hapless  'bo  lay  dying 

Beside  the  right  of  way. 

A  freight  car  hard  had  struck  him 

As  he  tried  to  take  a  ride; 
He  missed  his  hold  and  stumbled, 

And  the  car  crushed  in  his  side. 

His  partner  knelt  beside  him 

Whilst  thus  he  stricken  lay, 
And  listened  to  his  raving — 

'Twas  this  he  heard  him  say: 

"I  guess  I'm  done  for,  pardner — 

I  guess  I  am  all  in — 
My  body's  achin'  turble, 
'N  my  lamps  is  gitten'  dim. 

"I'm  goin'  ter  join  der  angels, 

An'  round  and  round  I'll  fly; 
I  wonder  if  dere's  handouts 

Up  dere  in  de  sky? 

"I  kinder  liked  the  chippies, 

'N  I  was  stuck  on  gin, 
But  Peter  will  be  good  to  me — 

I'm  sure  he'll  let  me  in. 

"I  wasn't  no  worse  ner  others, 

To  be  good  I'd   often  try; 
Oh,  Lordy,  do  be  good  to  me, 

Please  don't  let  me  die! 


28 

"Are  all  de  angels  naked — 

Don't  dey  wear  no  clothes? 
Maybe  dey  don't  need  them — 

Dere  all  good,  I  s'pose. 

"Good-bye,  my  dear  old  pardner, 

I  guess  I'll  have  ter  go; 
I  feel  dat  I  must  leave  you, 

My  time  is  up,  I  know." 

Then  the  poor  yong  fellow 

Began  to  gasp  for  breath; 
His  face  began  to  whiten, 

And  he  stiffened  out  in  death. 

His  partner  knelt  beside  him — 

O'er  the  strong  frame,  stricken  low — 

And  emptied  all  his  pockets, 

Which  was  not  wrong,  you  know. 

For  if  he  had  not  done  so 

They'd  have  been  stolen  by  some  'bo; 

He  then  made  tracks  for  Reno, 
And  then  due  west  did  blow. 

I  showed  this  sad  little  poem  to  Billy  and  the  rest  of  the 
gang,  and  they  said  no  poet  could  beat  it,  which  made  me 
feel  proud.  Some  one  said  I  ought  to  be  called  the  Hobo 
Poet,  but  I  am  not  looking  for  distinction.  There  are  too 
many  hobo  poets  roaming  around  the  country  now.  There  is 
A  No.  1,  for  instance,  whose  autograph  can  be  seen  on  walls, 
fences,  barns,  abandoned  shacks,  water-closets,  and  other 
public  places  all  over  the  country,  from  New  York  to  San 
Francisco,  and  this  distinguished  individual  also  wrote  and 
published  a  thin  volume  of  poetry  and  history  relating  his 
adventures.  A  No.  1  is  a  pretty  fresh  aleck,  for  he  has 
boldly  traced  his  name  in  very  large  letters  in  some  places 


29 

where  he  should  not  have  done  so.  Some  people  are  just 
laying  for  A  No.  1,  and  if  they  ever  lay  hands  on  him  there'll 
be  a  dead  hobo. 

Then  there  is  Denver  Red,  another  bold  and  reckless 
chap,  who  is  well  known  all  over  the  country  for  his  good- 
heartedness,  recklessness,  pugnacity,  and  willingness  to 
oblige. 

Sheeny  Ike  from  New  York  is  also  more  or  less  known. 
Then  there  is  Nutsey  McGraw,  McGinty,  the  Fade-away  Kid, 
Weary  Bill,  Pittsburg  Fat,  and  quite  a  few  otner  celebrities, 
all  of  whom  have  gained  more  or  less  renown  for  some  rea- 
son or  other. 

It  was  a  long  freight  train  made  up  partly  of  empty 
cattle  cars  that  dragged  Billy  and  I  out  of  Reno  one  fine, 
crisp  November  morning.  The  car  was  roofed  over  and 
boarded  in  at  the  sides,  had  open  slats  to  let  in  plenty  of  air 
and  to  give  one  an  opportunity  to  view  the  scenery.  This 
train  started  just  a  little  before  daylight,  and  it  was  pretty 
cold  riding  for  awhile,  but  bye-and-bye  the  sun  came  out  and 
gave  the  promise  of  being  a  fine  day.  Billy  and  I  never  trav- 
eled with  other  'bos,  but  always  kept  to  ourselves.  Our 
motto  was  "two  is  company  and  three  is  a  crowd,"  so  thai 
whenever  anyone  else  tried  to  thrust  himself  in  upon  us  we 
gave  him,  or  them,  the  slip  when  an  opportunity  offered. 

Reno  is  near  the  state  line  of  California,  in  the  extreme 
western  part  of  Nevada,  so  that  soon  after  passing  Verdi  we 
were  in  California.  From  here  on  the  scenery  began  to  grow 
so  beautiful  that  we  could  not  help  looking  at  it.  It  was  an 
uphill  climb,  the  train  winding  its  way,  sna,ke-like,  around 
and  around  and  upward,  the  two  engines  attached  to  the 
train  away  up  in  front,  snorting  and  coughing  like  good  fel- 
lows. It  was  hard  work  for  them,  no  doubt,  dragging  such  a 
long  train  up  the  mountains,  but  that  wasn't  worrying  us 
any.  We  just  made  ourselves  comfortable,  sat  down  on  our 
blankets,  smoked  our  pipes,  chatted  and  gazed  at  the  scenery. 
We  came  by  a  large  paper  mill  near  which  there  was  a  big 
pond  of  pure,  clear  water  that  was  probably  used  in  the  man- 


30 

ufacture  of  paper.  Further  along  in  the  gorge  we  observed 
some  huge  ice  houses  with  ponds  near  them.  These  ice 
houses  supply  California  with  much  of  its  natural  ice,  for, 
except  in  the  higher  altitudes  of  the  Sierra-Nevada  Moun- 
tains, no  ice  or  snow  falls  or  forms  anywhere  in  California. 

What  struck  us  more  forcibly  than  anything  else  was 
that  the  leaves  on  the  trees  in  the  mountainous  part  of  Cali- 
fornia were  not  turning  in  their  autumn  tints  at  all,  but  were 
as  fresh,  green  and  luxuriant  as  they  are  in  the  springtime. . 
This  surprised  us.  There  were  fir,  cedar,  pine,  magnolia, 
buckeye,  cottonwood,  oak,  redwood,  and  a  host  of  other  trees, 
and  a  wealth  of  shade  and  foliage  everywhere. 

Say,  Billy,"  remarked  I  to  my  chum,  "this  looks  like 
God's  country!  Did  you  ever  see  anything  like  it?" 

"Can't  say  that  I  did.  But  I  don't  see  any  towns  or 
houses  or  cities  in  this  blooming  country." 

"No,  it's  a  vast  solitude,  and  I  wouldn't  want  to  live  in 
it.  I'd  get  the  horrors  in  no  time." 

Up,  up,  we  went,  the  scenery  becoming  finer  and  wilder 
at  every  turn  of  the  wheels.  The  engines  must  have  been 
having  a  mighty  hard  time  of  it,  the  way  they  coughed  and 
hissed,  making  mighty  slow  progress.  As  we  were  in  no 
particular  hurry,  though,  we  did  not  mind  this.  We  were  not 
due  anywhere  at  any  particular  time.  What  we  did  was  to 
enjoy  ourselves,  and  I  can  truthfully  say  that  I  was  never 
more  exhilirated  in  my  life  than  I  was  just  then,  though  I 
did  not  have  a  dollar  in  my  pocket.  Riches  do  not  bring 
happiness.  One  can  be  poor  and  still  be  happy. 

Up,  up,  up,  we  went,  the  car  wheels  creaking  and  the 
scenery  growing  wilder  at  every  turn.  We  could  look  down 
into  abysses  now  which  made  our  hearts  sink  into  our  socks, 
for  we  feared  that  the  train  might  jump  the  track  and  tumble 
into  some  abyss.  We  held  our  breath,  for  had  such  a  thing 
happened  there  wouldn't  be  any  more  story  to  tell. 

But  up,  still  up,  we  climbed.  Ye  gods,  what  enchanting 
views  at  every  turn!  What  sublime  scenery!  These  are 


31 

scenes  no  painter  can  paint  or  writer  portray  properly.  They 
must  be  seen  to  be  appreciated. 

But  husky  chaps  like  Billy  and  I  could  not  live  on  pure 
mountain  air  and  scenery,  for  we  had  not  eaten  anything 
since  the  night  before.  In  fact,  the  bracing  mountain  air  had 
helped  to  give  us  a  huge  appetite,  and  we  felt  that  the  inner 
man  must  be  appeased  somehow. 

"Say,  Billy,  how  would  a  nice  fat  goose  stuffed  with 
chestnuts  go  now?"  asked  I,  to  banter  my  partner.  ? 

"Aw,  go  to  -      — ,"  snapped  Billy. 

"And  how  about  a  pie?  Which  kind  do  you  like  best — 
apple,  mince,  custard,  squash  or  pumpkin?" 

"Squash  or  pumpkin?"  scornfully  sniffed  Billy;  "those  are 
good  enough  for  Americans,  but  in  my  country  they  feed 
squash  and  pumpkins  to  the  pigs." 

''Do  they?"  retorted  I.  "Well,  then,  they  have  darn  poor 
judgment,  for  there  aint  anything  more  scrumptious  than 
squash  or  pumpkin  pie.  And  some  people  know  how  to  make 
them,  too;  believe  me.  Yum!  Yum!" 

"Aw,  get  to out  of  here  with  your  squash  and 

pumpkin  pies!  Give  me  a  thrup-penny  pork  pie  or  a  six  penny 
one;  there's  eating  for  you,  lad!" 

Billy  broke  out  into  English  occasionally,  when  he  grew 
excited;  then  it  was  plain  to  be  seen  that  he  was  a  Britisher. 

The  stations  on  the  Sierra-Nevada  Mountains  are  few  and 
far  between,  and  usually  consist  of  a  single  shack,  in  which 
the  ticket  agent  hibernates  or  "isolates."  One  sees  plenty  of 
trees  and  scenery  in  the  Sierras,  but  few  human  beings,  for 
these  altitudes  are  vast  but  silent. 

In  due  course  our  train  stopped  at  a  village  called 
Truckee.  Here  Billy  and  I  hopped  off  in  a  hurry  to  look  for 
something  to  eat.  I  had  a  few  dimes  in  my  pocket,  so  I 
walked  into  a  grocery  store,  bought  two  loaves  of  bread  and 
then  returned  to  Billy,  who  was  minding  our  blankets.  We 
indulged  in  a  feed  that  was  gigantic.  Billy  ate  a  whole  loaf 
of  bread  and  a  huge  hunk  of  cheese,  and  so  did  I,  but  still 
we  were  hungry.  Had  we  had  more  we  could  have  eaten  more. 


After  eating  we  felt  that  we  would  like  to  have  something 
wet  to  wash  down  the  food  with,  so  I  hinted  to  Billy  that  a 
schooner  of  beer  would  not  go  so  bad.  He  agreed  with  me 
instantly,  whereupon  we  went  in  quest  of  a  saloon. 

Truckee  is  a  town  of  about  seven  or  eight  hundred  in- 
habitants, I  should  judge,  and  consists  of  a  main  street, 
which  is  situated  opposite  the  railroad  track  and  runs  parallel 
with  it.  There  are  one  or  two  hotels  in  the  burg,  a  few 
general  merchandise  stores,  several  restaurants,  a  dozen  or 
more  saloons,  a  barber  shop  or  two,  one  or  two  butcher  shops, 
a  large  planing  mill  and  lumber  yard,  and  a  rew  other  estab- 
lishments. All  the  buildings  are  of  wood,  and  seem  ancient 
and  primitive. 

Across  the  way,  on  the  other  side  of  the  railroad  track, 
flows  the  Truckee  River,  which  here  is  a  swift-flowing  moun- 
tain stream  that  is  full  of  speckled  beauties  in  the  shape  of 
mountain  trout.  Almost  everyone  in  Truckee  goes  a-fishing 
occasionally,  for  the  stream  is  open  to  all. 

Not  far  from  Truckee  is  Lake  Tahoe,  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  mountain  streams  in  the  world.  It  is  GOO  feet  deep, 
300  miles  in  area,  and  over  6,000  feet  above  sea  level.  This 
lake  is  a  favorite  summer  resort,  for  it  is  deliciously  cool 
and  shady  in  the  summer  time  and  is  studded  with  villas 
which  are  owned  by  well-to-do  city  people. 

Truckee  itself  is  the  last  railroad  division  point  in  Cali- 
fornia going  eastward.  It  is  a  lumber  camp  of  much  activity 
in  the  summer  time,  and  when  the  mills  are  running  the 
town  is  rough,  wild  and  woolly.  Then  gambling,  drinking, 
dancing  and  other  joys,  are  in  order. 

Billy  and  I  sauntered  slowly  along  the  main  street  taking 
in  the  sights,  and  it  took  us  about  five  minutes  to  size  up  the 
town.  We  noticed  a  stairway  leading  down  a  basement  over 
which  was  a  sign  which  read,  "Benny's  Gray  Mule."  Billy 
and  I  started  down  the  stairway,  and  when  we  got  down  a 
few  steps  we  noticed  that  "Benny's  Gray  Mule"  was  a  saloon 
that  had  gone  out  of  business.  From  the  appearance  of 
things  it  had  been  shut  up  a  long  time,  which  was  lamentable, 


33 

for  a  place  with  such  a  beautiful  name  ought  to  have  thrived. 

We  went  up  the  steps  again  and  hunted  for  a  place  that 
was  open  and  ready  for  business.  We  did  not  have  far  to 
look,  for  almost  every  other  establishment  was  a  drinking 
place. 

We  entered  the  wide,  swinging  doors  of  a  pretentiously- 
named  saloon,  "The  Palace,"  which  was  roomy  and  capa- 
cious. On  the  left  hand  side  as  we  entered  stood  a  bar,  and 
opposite  it  were  roulette  and  gaming  tables.  At  the  extreme 
rear  of  the  place  was  a  lunch  counter  with  high  stools,  and  a 
bill  of  fare  was  painted  on  the  wall  in  large  letters.  This  is 
what  it  proclaimed: 

Plain   Steak    25  cents 

Rib  Steak   35  cents 

Porterhouse     • 75  cents 

Oysters  in  any  style   50  cents 

Ham  and  Eggs    25  cents 

Bacon  and  Eggs   25  cents 

Hamburg   Steak    25  cents 

Liver  and  Bacon    25  cenis 

Sausage     25  cents 

Hot  Cakes  and  Coffee .( 15  cents 

Pork   Chops .  .  25  cents 

Lamb  Chops    -. 25  cents 

Mutton  Chops    25  cents 

The  place  seemed  to  us  to  be  a  pretty  tough  joint,  but 
Billy  and  I  leisurely  meandered  toward  the  bar  where  I  or- 
dered two  schooners.  The  barkeeper  was  in  his  shirt-sleeves 
and  had  an  evil-looking  mug. 

"Well  gents,  what'll  it  be?"  asked  the  barkeeper  in  a  busi- 
ness-like way,  wiping  off  the  bar  with  a  cloth,  as  he  spoke. 

"About  two  of  the  biggest  schooners  you've  got  will 
about  hit  us  right,"  answered  I.  Without  another  word  the 
wet-goods  dispenser  grabbed  up  two  big  glasses,  stepped  to 
a  beer-keg  and  filled  them  to  the  brim  with  beer.  After  the 
glasses  had  been  set  before  us  I  threw  a  clime  down  on  the 
counter  in  payment. 


34 

"What's  that  for?"  asked  the  barkeeper,  with  an  ugly 
scowl. 

"Why  for  the  beer,  of  course,"  answered  I. 

"Come  again,  pardner.    All  drinks  are  ten  cents  here." 

"You  don't  say!"  said  I.  "Well,  to  keep  peace  in  the 
family,  here's  another  dime;  I  didn't  know  what  the  prices 
were;  excuse  me." 

"All  right,"  says  barkeeper,  much  mollified.  He  swept 
the  money  nonchalantly  into  the  till.  We  gulped  down  the 
beer  which  tasted  good.  After  we  had  disposed  of  the  beer 
we  looked  about  us  a  little  and  a  gambler  seated  at  a  table 
called  out  enticingly:  "Come  and  beat  the  gambler,  gentle- 
men! The  play  is  made!"  The  bait  was  alluring,  but  we 
didn't  bite,  for  we  had  no  money. 

There  was  not  much  going  on  in  the  way  of  gambling 
at  that  hour  of  the'  day;  the  most  of  it  is  done  at  night.  Then 
everything  runs  at  full  blast,  the  roulette  wheels  spin,  the 
crap  games  and  the  stud-horse  poker  games  are  well  patro- 
nized. Billy  and  I  concluded  to  continue  on  our  journey  down 
the  line  outside,  so  we  left  the  place.  We  noticed  that  our 
train  was  still  there.  A  great  deal  of  switching  was  being 
done  but  the  train  would  soon  be  made  up.  Our  cattle-car 
was  to  continue  her  journey  we  noticed,  so  we  deemed  it 
best  to  keep  an  eye  on  her.  After  a  good  long  wait  the  train 
was  made  up  and  stood  ready  on  the  track  for  departure. 
When  she  pulled  out  we  were  safe  aboard. 

Continuing  our  journey,  we  still  climbed  upward  and 
came  to  a  line  of  snowsheds. 

Wonderful  structures  these  are  for  they  are  about  thirty 
feet  high,  I  should  judge,  and  in  some  places  where  there  is 
a  double  track  or  station,  they  are  a  great  deal  higher. 

Although  it  was  a  bright,  clear  day  outside,  there  was  a 
sort  of  twilight  inside  the  sheds,  so  that  we  could  see  but 
little  of  the  scenery,  which  was  a  great  disappointment  to  us. 
At  a  station  called  Blue  Canyon,  we  noticed  some  small 
trees  standing,  which  had  deep  green  leaves  and  golden  yel- 
low balls  shining  among  them. 


35 

"Say,  Billy,  look  over  there,  will  you!"  exclaimed  I,  point- 
ing; "see  them  yellow  balls  hanging  on  the  trees?  I  wonder 
what  they  are?" 

Billy  gazed  fixedly,  when  suddenly  he  exclaimed:  "Windy, 
them's  oranges,  as  sure  as  we're  alive!" 

"Go  on,  Billy;  what  do  you  know  about  oranges?  Oranges 
don't  grow  on  trees." 

"They  don't  eh;  what  do  they  grow  on;  bushes  do  you 
think?" 

"Search  me,  Billy.  I  never  saw  any  oranges  growing  be- 
fore. 

"Did  you  ever  see  any  growing  behind?"  sarcastically 
retorted  Billy.  "I  wish  this  bally  old  train  would  stop  so  as 
we  could  get  a  few." 

Billy  was  getting  excited,  I  could  plainly  see.  Unfor- 
tunately the  train  did  not  stop  here  for  refreshments,  so  we 
could  not  get  any  oranges.  This  was  too  bad  f-or  we  were  get- 
ting hungry  again,  the  mountain  air  being  responsible  for 
such  a  condition.  We  were  pretty  near  broke  though,  and 
would  be  unable  to  buy  any  more  food,  or  drinks  either. 

In  a  little  while  we  stopped  at  a  station  called  Dutch 
Flat,  but  there  was  no  town  in  its  vicinity,  at  least  we  could 
see  none.  But  anyway  we  hopped  off  for  refreshments,  not 
caring  whether  the  train  would  leave  us  behind  or  not.  We 
had  to  eat. 

Near  the  station  there  was  a  Chinese  village,  we  noticed, 
and  we  concluded  to  try  our  luck  here  for  a  hand-out.  The 
village  was  composed  of  one  street  only,  at  either  side  of 
which  stood  a  number  of  ramshackle  huts,  and  as  we  moved 
along  an  odor  of  opium  smote  the  air.  There  was  a  Chinese 
laundry  in  the  burg  which  convinced  us  that  there  was  a 
Melican  man's  town  not  far  away. 

There  was  a  general  merchandise  store  in  the  place,  too, 
conducted  by  Chinese,  which  seemed  neat  enough,  but  a  mixed 
odor  of  stale  dried  fish  and  other  Chinese  comestibles  came 
from  it  that  was  anything  but  savory. 


36 

The  advent  of  Billy  and  I  in  the  village  was  heralded  by 
several  homely-looking  canines  who  made  advances  toward 
us  that  were  not  friendly,  but  we  walked  on  slowly  and  paid 
no  attention  to  them. 

The  warnings  of  the  dogs  aroused  the  inhabitants  who 
came  to  their  doors  to  see  what  the  row  was  about.  I  strode 
up  to  one  Chinaman  who  was  standing  at  his  doorway  and 
informed  him  that  we  were  hungry,  and  asked  him  if  he  could 
give  us  something  to  eat. 

"No  sabee!"  replied  he  instantly,  and  called  out  some- 
thing in  Chinese  to  his  fellow  celestials,  who  put  on  frown- 
ing faces.  I  stepped  up  to  one  or  two  of  the  celestials  and 
asked  for  a  hand-out,  but  it  was  "no  sabee,"  with  all  of  them. 
They  had  all  resolved  evidently  to  turn  us  down.  I  concluded 
that  we  were  not  going  to  get  anything  to  eat  in  that  rotten 
village,  so  I  searched  through  all  my  pockets  until  I  found  a 
dime.  "Billy,  see  if  you  can't  dig  up  something!"  entreated  I. 
Billy  dug  down  and  brought  forth  a  lone  nickel. 

"I  kept  this  nickel  for  emergencies,  Windy,  but  this  is 
an  emergency,  we  can't  starve,  you  know!"  ruefully  declared 
Billy. 

"True  for  you,  kid.  I'm  going  to  try  my  luck  with  these 
Chinks  once  more;  if  they  won't  give  us  something,  maybe 
they'll  sell  us  something.  Darn  the  mean,  homely-looking 
crowd  anyway!" 

I  rapped  at  the  last  door  in  the  village  but  no  one  re- 
sponded. I  rapped  louder,  whereupon  a  thin  and  aged  celes- 
tial, with  gray  hair  came  to  the  door  and  asked,  "what  you 
wantee?" 

"Something  to  eat,  Charlie,"  responded  I,  showing  him 
fifteen  cents;  "what  you  got?" 

"No  gotee  anything;  only  licee  (rice)  and  poke  chop, 
(pork  chop)." 

"Sell  us  fifteen  cents  worth  of  pork  chop,  will  you?  We're 
very  hungry  and  want  something  to  eat." 

This  appeal,  as  it  was  backed  by  money,  overcame  the 
scruples  of  the  bowed  old  Chinaman,  who  went  into  his-  domi- 


37 

cile  and  soon  returned  with  two  nice  pork  chops,  which  he 
wrapped  in  a  newspaper  for  us. 

"You  sabee  cookee?"  asked  the  old  man. 

"Oh  yes,  me  heap  sabee;  me  cook  before,"  responded  I. 

"All  lightee,"  (right),  grunted  the  aged  celestial,  at  the 
same  time  putting  a  little  salt  and  pepper  into  a  piece  of 
paper  and  handing  it  to  me.  These  were  for  the  purpose  of 
seasoning  the  meat. 

We  thanked  the  old  man  heartily  for  his  kindness  and 
then  sauntered  off  leisurely  to  find  a  likely  spot  where  we 
could  cook  our  meat.  Not  far  away  was  a  secluded  hill  with 
plenty  of  brush  and  twigs  near  it  and  here  we  camped. 

We  made  a  roaring  fire  and  toasted  the  chops  by  means 
of  long  sticks  which  we  held  over  the  blaze,  and  so  intent 
were  we  in  our  cooking  operations  that  we  were  not  noticing 
what  was  going  on  around  us.  I  happened  to  look  up  and, 
my  goodness!  the  whole  country  seemed  on  fire. 

This  was  the  dry  season  of  the  year  in  California,  for  no 
rain  to  speak  of  had  fallen  for  six  months  or  more,  and  all 
the  vegetation  around  us  was  as  dry  as  a  chip.  The  bushes 
near  our  camp  had  caught  fire  unperceived  by  us,  and  the 
fire  now  had  spread,  igniting  the  dead  grass,  leaves,*  bushes 
and  everything  else  that  was  at  all  inflammable. 

We  jumped  up  badly  frightened  and  ran  away,  forgetting 
our  chops  in  our  excitement.  We  made  for  the  railroad 
tracks  in  a  hurry,  which  seemed  the  safest  place  from  fire, 
for  there  was  nothing  inflammable  near  by. 

The  Chinamen  in  the  village  had  seen  the  dense  clouds 
of  smoke  arising  and  had  discerned  at  once  what  the  trouble 
was.  They  emitted  cries  of  alarm  and  excitement  and  in  a 
jiffy  came  running  up  with  pails,  oil-cans  and  all  kinds  of 
other  things  that  would  hold  water.  They  doused  the  flames 
and  also  tried  to  beat  them  out  with  wetted  sacks,  chatter- 
ing and  shrieking  like  monkeys  in  the  meanwhile.  Billy  and 
I  returned  and  grabbed  up  wet  sacks,  too,  and  helped  to  try 
and  subdue  the  conflagration,  but  it  had  got  beyond  control. 
It  was  spreading  in  every  direction.  The  Chinese  prevented 


it  from  destroying  their  village,  but  they  could  not  stop  it 
in  other  directions.  Such  a  running,  shouting,  cussing  and 
yelling  there  was.  Everyone  seemed  to  be  excited,  including 
my  pardner  and  I. 

While  rushing  back  to  the  village,  to  wet  the  sacks,  I 
heard  a  big  commotion  in  the  Chinese  laundryman's  back 
yard.  I  wondered  whether  his  place  had  caught  fire,  for  he 
was  yelling  to  beat  the  band.  I  looked  in  to  see  what  the  trou- 
ble was.  The  Chinaman^s  wash-lines,  which  had  clothes  hang- 
ing on  them  to  dry,  were  being  kicked  down  by  his  horse  who 
was  terrified  by  the  flames. 

The  horse  was  cavorting  with  tail  up  and  head  down, 
snorting  and  squealing,  and  trying  to  escape  from  the  place 
where  he  was  tethered.  He  had  been  well-tied  though  and 
escape  was  not  e£sy.  His  boss,  the  laundryman,  was  yelling 
and  swearing  at  him  in  Chinese  to  make  him  let  up,  but  the 
frightened  creature  either  did  not  or  would  not  understand. 
His  heels  flew  around  pretty  lively  and  kicked  down  every- 
thing within  reach.  His  boss  kept  at  a  respectful  distance 
from  him.  After  kicking  down  nearly  all  the  wash-lines,  he 
gave  one  more  mighty  effort,  and  this  time  pulled  up  the  stake 
to  which  he  had  been  tethered  and  made  off,  with  his  head 
down  and  tail  up,  rushing  right  into  the  flames  with  the  rope 
and  stake  trailing  after  him.  You  ought  to  have  heard  that 
Chinaman  swear!  Wow!  I  sneaked  away  so  that  he  would 
not  see  me.  Had  he  seen  me,  murder  might  have  been  done. 
I  joined  Billy  and  told  him  it  was  about  time  for  us  to  be 
moving. 

Our  train  had  not  yet  gone,  for  it  was  still  standing  on  a 
siding,  waiting  for  another  train  to  pass,  so  in  we  climbed 
into  our  cattle-car  once  more.  We  pulled  out  our  pipes, 
smoked,  chatted  and  laughed  aloud  over  our  recent  experi- 
ence, regretting  only  that  we  were  hungry,  for  our  chops, 
which  had  dropped  into  the  fire  were  probably  burned  to  a 
crisp  by  this  time.  We  must  have  been  laughing  pretty 
loudly  for  suddenly  a  head  was  thrust  through  the  open  car 


39 

doorway  and  a  grim  visage  confronted  us.  It  was  the  brake- 
man's. 

What  you  two  fellows  doin'  there?"  snarled  he. 

"Only  taking  a  little  ride,"  responded  Billy  meekly. 

"Where  to?"  demanded  brakey. 

"Only  down  the  line  a  little  way/'  again  responded  Billy 
meekly. 

"What  are  you  riding  on?"  Brakey  wanted  to  know. 

"On  a  freight  train,"  innocently  responded  Billy. 

I  guffawed,  for  I  knew  Billy  had  given  the  wrong  answer, 
but  brakey  never  cracked  a  smile.  He  didn't  know  whether 
Billy  was  joshing  or  bantering  him. 

"Got  any  money  or  tickets?"  asked  brakey  in  a  stern, 
non-commital  way. 

"Not  a  bean,"  answered  Billy. 

"Get  off  this  train,  then,  and  be  quick  about  it,"  thundered 
brakey.  "Don't  let  me  catch  you  here  again.  If  I  do,  I'll 
make  it  hot  for  you!" 

We  jumped  off  much  crestfallen  for  we  had  lost  a  fine 
opportunity  to  ride.  We  had  been  too  gay  and  laughing  too 
loud,  and  that's  what  we  got  for  it.  It  revealed  our  presence 
to  the  train-men.  Well,  there  was  no  help  for  it,  so  off  we 
got.  Had  we  had  a  little  m'oney  we  might  have  squared  mat- 
ters with  brakey,  perhaps,  for  some  brakemen  don't  mind 
earning  a  little  easy  money  on  the  side,  but  we  were  broke 
and  had  nothing  to  offer.  When  brakey  asked  what  we  were 
riding  on,  he  wanted  to  know  whether  we  had  any  money  or 
anything  else  in  the  shape  of  an  equivalent  to  offer  for  a  ride. 
I  had  "given  up"  before  during  my  peregrinations,  to  brake- 
men,  but  neither  Billy  nor  I  could  give  when  we  had  nothing. 
This  brakeman  might  not  have  been  a  bad  fellow,  at  all,  not- 
withstanding his  gruff  manner  and  he  probably  was  talking 
business,  only  Billy  was  still  comparatively  green  at  beating 
it,  and  did  not  understand  brakey's  way  or  his  speech.  He 
was  learning,  though,  and  I  let  him  learn  and  kept  posting  him. 
I  was  an  older  hand  at  the  business  than  he  and  knew  the 
ropes  better. 


CHAPTER  III. 
AS  REGARDS  HOBOES. 

The  train  pulled  out  without  us  and  we  regarded  her  rue- 
fully. "Billy,  what's  the  next  thing  on  the  programme.  We're 
ditched,"  said  I. 

"I  suppose  all  we  can  do  is  to  wait  for  the  next  train,  but 
I  hate  to  be  seen  around  this  place  for  some  of  the  Chinamen 
might  get  on  to  us.'' 

"Oh,  don't  you  worry  about  that.  Them  fellers  won't 
hurt  a  white  man  in  this  country.  If  we  were  in  their  own 
country  they  might  do  something  to  us,  for  they're  pretty 
numerous  there.  You  stay  here  while  I  go  up  to  the  depot 
and  ask  the  agent  when  the  next  train  will  come  along." 

Billy  walked  off  into  the  brush  with  our  blankets,  whilst  I 
leisurely  walked  up  to  the  depot  to  buzz  the  agent. 

The  agent  was  a  slim  young  man  with  a  thin  face,  black 
moustache  and  active  manner.  He  was  sitting  in  his  office 
all  alone  as  I  entered,  telegraphing.  I  asked  him,  when  he  got 
through  telegraphing,  if  he  would  please  tell  me  when  the 
next  train  was  due.  He  sized  me  up,  and  probably  judged 
from  the  cut  of  my  jib  that  I  was  a  Wandering  Willie. 

"Freight  or  passenger?"  asked  he,  in  rather  a  bantering 
way. 

"Freight,"  replied  I,  in  a  kind  of  half-hearted  manner. 

"Don't  know,  pardner.  There  may  be  something  going 
down  the  hill  about  two  or  three  o'clock  tomorrow  morning." 

"Whew,"  said  I  to  myself;  "that's  a  long  time  to  wait." 
I  thanked  the  agent  and  left  the  office. 

"Billy,  I  guess  we're  in  for  it,"  remarked  I  to  my  chum 
after  I  had  rejoined  him.  "There'll  be  no  train  until  some 
time  tomorrow  morning.  It'll  be  a  long  wait." 

"How  about  grub;  are  we  going  to  starve?" 


41 

"Looks  like  it,  kid.  We're  both  broke  and  I  guess  we 
don't  want  to  go  to  that  Chinese  village  for  more  grub,  do 
we?" 

"Well,  hardly,"  responded  Billy. 

Luckily  we  had  plenty  of  tobacco  with  us,  so  we  smoked 
to  ward  off  the  pangs  of  hunger.  We  had  been  in  such  a  situ- 
ation before,  many  a  time,  for,  to  bear  the  slings  and  arrows 
of  misfortune  is  part  of  the  hobo's  life,  and  must  be  borne 
without  flinching.  Hoboing  may  be  a  picnic  sometimes  but 
not  always.  There  are  a  few  difficulties  to  contend  with, 
such  as  going  unwashed  and  unkempt  for  a  while;  a  lack  of 
opportunity  to  change  one's  underwear,  socks  or  clothes; 
irregular  meals;  traveling  at  all  hours  of  the  day  or  night; 
using  out-of-the-way  sleeping-places;  dust  in  summer  and  frost 
in  winter;  and  a  few  other  trifles  of  that  sort;  not  to  mention 
bulls,  fly-cops,  etc. 

After  the  shades  of  night  had  fallen,  we  spread  out  our 
blankets  underneath  some  bushes  close  to  the  railroad  track, 
where  we  could  keep  an  ear  open  during  our  sleep  for  ap- 
proaching trains.  Wandering  Willies  are  awfully  acute  in 
that  respect,  for  no  matter  how  sound  their  slumbers  may  be, 
they  will  awake  nine  times  out  of  ten  in  time  to  catch  a  train. 
Unless  a  'bo  is  too  badly  boozed  he  will  never  miss  a  train. 

While  on  the  subject  of  'boes,  let  me  give  a  brief  general 
description  of  them.  Decent  people  in  general  have  no  use 
for  them,  and  don't  like  to  see  them  around,  but  every  one 
who  hits  the  pike  is  not  necessarily  a  'bo.  I  would  like  to 
demonstrate  this  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  do  so. 

First  of  all,  there  is  the  honest  workingman  who  travels 
from  place  to  place  in  search  of  work,  but  who  has  not  the 
wherewithal  to  pay  his  fare.  He  has  earned  some  money 
while  at  work,  but  he  has  spent  it  in  some  manner  best  known 
to  himself.  The  distance  between  towns  out  west  are  great 
and  railroad  fares  high,  (rarely  less  than  three  cents  a  mile 
and  from  that  up),  so  that  a  poor  fellow  who  wants  to  get 
away  anywhere  has  to  pay  well  for  the  privilege. 


42 

There  is  another  class  of  wanderer  who  travels  by  rail 
without  helping  to  fill  the  railroad  coffers,  because  they  have 
a  constitutional  aversion  to  giving  up  to  railroads.  The  rail- 
road owners  are  highway  robbers,  they  say;  they  are  thieves, 
bloated  bond-holders,  blood-suckers,  purloiners  of  the  peo- 
ple's substance  and  are  constantly  getting  richer  whilst  the 
poor  are  getting  poorer,  so  why  encourage  them  in  their  ne- 
farious practices? 

A  third  class  of  wanderers  is  composed  of  city  bred  chaps 
who  have  had  a  hard  time  of  it  in  the  city  and  who  want  to 
get  out  into  the  country  or  somewhere  else  where  they  can 
better  their  fortune.  Competition  is  pretty  keen  in  the  over- 
crowded cities  which  has  brought  them  low.  They  have 
striven  and  failed  and  fallen  into  a  rut  from  which  it  is  pretty 
hard  to  pull  out.  Necessity  or  some  one  or  something 
finally  drives  them  from  the  city,  so  they  wander  from  place 
to  place  until  they  find  something  to  do.  These  are  not  'bos, 
but  poor  and  respectable  fellows  who  crave  work.  A  great 
many  of  this  class  of  wanderers  are  always  on  the  go,  and  when 
they  hit  a  hobo-camp  they  are  glad  to  join  it  for  company's 
sake,  for  their  lot  is  a  lonely  one  and  a  hard  one. 

A  fourth  class  is  made  up  of  well  educated  fellows  who 
have  held  good  positions,  but  are  down  and  out  from  drink 
or  other  misfortune.  There  are  a  great  many  fellows  of  this 
sort  wandering  about  and  they  have  sunk  to  a  pretty  low  ebb, 
and  probably  they  never  will  rise  again. 

A  fifth  class  is  composed  of  men  and  boys  who  are  strand- 
ed, but  who  want  to  get  from  one  place  to  another.  They 
haven't  the  means  to  pay  railroad  fares,  but  must  get  to  their 
destination  somehow  and  don't  know  the  ways  of  the  road. 

In  fact,  there  are  all  kinds  of  people  beating  their  way 
every  day  in  the  year,  so  that  there  is  hardly  a  train  of  any 
kind  that  is  not  carrying  a  dead-head  of  some  kind.  It  re- 
quires constant  vigilance  on  the  part  of  the  train-men  to  hold 
their  own  with  beats,  dead-heads  and  unfortunates. 

The  most  numerous  class  of  wanderers  I  have  not  yet 
alluded  to.  "Professionals,"  with  a  -big  P.  These  are  the 


43 

lads  who  give  all  the  Wandering  Willies  a  bad  reputation,  for 
it  is  difficult  to  distinguish  them  from  their  betters. 

The  professional  'bo  is  a  "never-sweat,"  the  fellow  who 
would  run  away  from  work,  if  it  were  offered  him.  He  is  a 
thief,  vagabond,  low-lived  fellow  who  will  do  anything  except 
work.  His  parents  probably  were  not  decent,  so  neither  is 
he,  and  he  glories  in  evil  doing.  This  is  the  class  of  fellows 
who  people  the  jails  and  penitentiaries,  and,  who,  when  their 
time  expires,  hit  the  pike  again  and  travel  over  the  country. 

To  show  how  these  people  conduct  themselves  and  re- 
gard each  other,  I  will  relate  an  incident  or  two  in  my  career, 
which  may  not  have  been  very  creditable  to  me,  but  it  is  true. 
I  wish  to  say  right  here,  though,  that  I  have  not  always  asso- 
ciated with  vagabonds,  but  with  better  people,  and  that  I 
would  not  like  to  be  considered  worse  than  I  am.  I  have  been 
on  the  bum,  yes,  I  don't  deny  that;  but  it  was  from  necessity 
and  not  from  choice.  Billy's  folks  were  respectable  and  so 
were  mine,  and  for  that  very  reason  we  took  to  each  other, 
for  both  of  us  perceived  that  we  were  not  hardened  criminals, 
and  that  we  were  above  the  crowd  we  sometimes  were  com- 
pelled to  mingle  with.  I  am  not  sorry  that  I  did  mingle  with 
the  'boes,  for  I  have  learned  a  great  deal  about  human  mature 
in  that  way,  and  I  think  that  the  poet  Pope  stated  the  truth 
when  he  declared,  that,  "the  proper  study  for  mankind  is 
man."  It  sometimes  may  be  a  malodorous  and  insectivorous 
study,  but  not  a  bad  one  to  be  familiar  with,  anyway.  Man  in 
all  the  walks  of  life  is  worth  knowing.  They  are  evil-doers 
and  celebrated  criminals,  some  of  them,  and  the  celebrated 
ones  are  usually  regarded  with  awe  and  admiration  by  the 
small  fry. 

To  come  back  to  my  liver  and  bacon  though,  (I  like  liver 
and  bacon  just  as  well  as  mutton  for  a  change).  In  company 
with  several  other  knights  of  the  road  I  was  traveling  along 
the  plains  of  western  Nebraska  one  fine  summer's  evening 
and  the  weather  was  so  beautiful  that  we  were  all  in  gay 
spirits,  talking  aloud,  singing  or  whistling.  The  stars  were 
out  and  a  new  crescent  moon  hung  in  the  sky,  a  soft  delicious 


44 

breeze  was  blowing  over  the  wide  prairies  and  filled  me  full 
of  romance.  Fact,  I  assure  you.  It  was  a  night  fit  for  love, 
stratagem  or  spoils,  and  it  seems  that  one  of  my  companions 
had  a  business  eye  open  for  the  spoils. 

As  we  walked  along  the  railroad  track  past  a  little  rail- 
road station,  he  espied  a  fat  valise  standing  solitary  and  alone 
on  the  platform  of  the  station  near  the  track,  and  it  appealed 
to  him.  The  ticket  agent  was  in  his  office  and  the  owner  of 
the  grip  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  as  he  was  not  in  the  wait- 
ing-room or  on  the  platform.  Nor  was  any  one  else  in  sight 
either. 

"Watch  me  swipe  that  valise,"  said  the  'bo. 

He  walked  leisurely  into  the  waiting-room  as  if  he  were 
a  passenger,  looked  around  in  a  casual  way,  and  as  he  saw 
no  one  about,  he  picked  up  the  valise  as  if  he  were  its  owner, 
and  leisurely  walked  away  with  it,  following  us  who  had  pre- 
ceded him  along  the  track. 

After  he  had  joined  us,  we  walked  faster  and  finally 
broke  into  a  run,  for  we  did  not  know  how  soon  the  valise 
would  be  missed  or  how  soon  a  hue  and  cry  would  be  raised 
about  it.  After  running  what  to  us  seemed  a  good  long  dis- 
tance we  moved  into  the  brush  some  distance  away  from  the 
railroad  and  inspected  our  find. 

In  this  valise  were  a  suit  of  clothes  of  good  material, 
shirts,  collars,  underwear,  toilet  articles  and  other  things, 
which  showed  that  the  owner  was  intending  to  take  a  long 
trip.  The  'boes  weren't  caring  for  that  though.  They  were 
delighted  with  the  coup.  The  contents  of  the  grip  were 
divided  among  us  but  I  noticed  that  one  or  two  of  the  'boes 
would  not  accept  any  article,  saying  that  they  would  take  no 
chances  of  getting  pinched.  I  was  pretty  green  at  that  time 
so  I  accepted  a  vest  which  was  handed  me,  and  put  it  on.  It 
fitted  me  well.  Had  I  been  arrested  with  the  vest  on  me,  I 
might  have  been  sent  up  for  several  years  for  burglary,  al- 
though I  hadn't  a  thing  to  do  with  the  robbery  and  did  not 
advise  it  or  take  any  active  part  in  it.  I  accepted  the  stolen 


45 

goods  though,  and  that  fact  would  have  been  sufficient  to  have 
condemned  me  had  we  been  caught. 

What  a  fool  I  was!  What  chances  I  took!  Never  would 
I  have  committed  such  a  crime  or  taken  any  part  in  it. 

Another  time  I  was  walking  along  the  track  going  west- 
ward— that  was  a  few  nights  after  the  incident  just  related — 
when  I  espied  a  cheery  fire  down  a  bank  near  the  tracks, 
around  which  was  seated  about  a  dozen  'boes.  When  I  drew 
near,  they  immediately  took  notice,  for  they  are  leery  of 
strangers  and  have  a  wholesome  regard  for  the  bulls  (peace 
officers),  and  are  always  ready  to  scatter  at  the  least  alarm. 
It  did  not  take  them  long  to  size  me  up,  for  they  could  tell  at 
a  glance  that  I  was  on  the  road.  They  can  detect  a  friend 
from  a  foe  almost  instinctively,  though  they  do  get  fooled 
sometimes. 

I  stood  still  along  the  track  regarding  them,  after  bidding 
them  good  evening. 

"Come  down  and  join  us,  pardner!"  spoke  up  one  fellow. 

I  did  not  wait  for  a  second  invitation  for  I  had  been 
traveling  all  alone  all  day  and  was  glad  to  have  some  one  to 
speak  to.  I  went  down.  I  sat  down  beside  the  genial  blaze, 
and  after  having  answered  questions  as  to  where  I  came  from, 
where  I  was  going,  etc.,  the  spokesman  of  the  party  gave  his 
attention  to  other  matters.  From  hints  let  drop,  I  learned 
that  he  was  a  big  gun,  a  cracksman,  a  high-up  criminal,  and 
noticed  that  he  was  regarded  with  awe  and  admiration  by  the 
other  fellows.  This  man  appointed  himself  general-in-chief 
or  captain  of  the  camp,  without  opposition  from  anyone,  and 
gave  orders  that  were  readily  obeyed  by  all.  Nobody  dreamed 
of  opposing  him.  That  would  have  been  disloyalty  and  pun- 
ishable. 

He  speedily  showed  that  he  was  an  able  commander  and 
knew  how  to  handle  men.  As  there  was  nothing  to  eat  in 
camp,  the  commander  had  an  idea  that  a  good 'feed  would 
not  hurt  any  one,  least  of  all  himself;  accordingly  he  com- 
manded one  'bo  to  "get  to out  of  there  and  rustle  up  some 

bread."  To  another  he  said,  "get  out  and  rustle  up  some 


46 

meat."  A  third  was  commanded  to  "bring  in  onions  and  any 
other  old  thing  in  the  shape  of  vegetables."  A  fourth  was 
told  that  "pepper  and  salt  would  come  in  handy."  I  was  not 
asked  to  go  for  anything;  I  don't  know  why. 

Bye-and-bye  the  'boes  returned  from  their  errands.  The 
fellow  who  had  been  told  to  get  meat,  sauntered  in  with  a  leg 
of  mutton  on  his  shoulder.  The  captain's  eyes  glistened  with 
satisfaction  at  this  and  he  asked  his  subordinate  how  he  had 
come  by  the  meat. 

"Oh,  it  was  hangin'  up  kinder  lonesome-like  in  front  of  a 
butcher  shop,  so  I  walked  off  wid  it  when  I  got  er  chanst." 
That  was  all  he  said. 

The  fellow  who  was  told  to  get  out  and  rustle  up  bread, 
came  back  with  several  loaves.  Where  he  got  them  he  did 
not  say  nor  was  he  asked.  The  chap  who  was  sent  for  vege- 
tables came  back  empty-handed,  whereupon  he  and  the  boss 
of  the  camp  had  a  heart-to-heart  talk  in  which  the  boss  did 
most  of  the  talking. 

"Where's  all  them  vegetables  I  told  you  to  get?"  thun- 
dered he. 

"I  tried  hard  but  I  couldn't  get  none,"  was  the  humble 
response. 

"I  don't  think  you  tried  at  all,  you  lying  son-of-a-gun," 
irately  cried  the  chief.  "Get  out  again  and  try  your  luck. 
How  are  we  going  to  make  a  mulligan  without  fixings,  can 
'you  answer  that,  you  —  -  lazy  son-of-a-gun!" 

"I  did  try  and  couldn't  get  none,"  whined  the  'bo. 

"Tried  nothing,"  thundered  the  boss.  "You're  too  lazy 

to  get  out  and  rustle.  Get  to  h out  of  here!  We  don't 

want  such  people  as  you  around.  You  hear  me?" 

"Swear  to  G ,  Cap,  I  did  me  best.  I  didn't  see  no  place 

where  I  could  get  any  vegetables. 

"Oh,  you're  a  good  one,  you  are!  Has  your  mammy  got 
any  more  like  you?  If  she  has,  she  ought  to  take  them  out 
and  drownd  'em!  You're  a  piker,  a  four-flusher,  a  horse's 
titty,  etc." 


47 

He  called  the  poor  fellow  all  the  bad  names  he  could 
think  of,  and  they  were  not  a  few.  The  recipient  of  these 
remarks  accepted  them  silently  for  he  did  not  dare  to  fire 
back.  Had  he  done  so  he  might  have  got  his  skull  cracked. 

"That  mulligan  was  made  without  vegetables  for  it  was 
now  too  late  to  send  any  one  else  out  after  them.  All  the 
'boes  were  disappointed  because  there  were  no  vegetables, 
and  they  considered  that  the  chap  who  got  a  lacing  from  the 
captain  for  not  bringing  in  any,  deserved  all  he  got  and  more, 
too.  Had  there  been  a  mix-up  they  would  have  stood  by  the 
captain  to  a  man.  This  the  unsuccessful  forager  well  knew, 
so  it  was  his  play  to  remain  mum. 

The  chief  detective  of  a  great  trans-continental  railway 
system  who  knows  'boes  from  the  ground  up,  gave  a  brief 
sketch  of  them  in  a  newspaper  article  recently,  which  I  will 
reproduce  here,  for  it  will  throw  more'  light  on  the  subject. 
This  detective  ought  to  know  what  he  is  talking  about.  This 
is  what  he  said: 

"Tramps  are  divided  into  six  different  castes,  as  follows: 
kids,  hoboes,  stew  bums,  blanket-stiffs,  gay-cats  and  jungle- 
buzzards. 

The  kids  leave  home  between  the  ages  of  14  and  20  years. 
They  beat  trains  all  over  the  country.  They  beg,  steal  and 
serve  time  in  jail,  which  makes  them  eligible  to  enter  the 
hobo  ranks  at  the  age  of  20. 

A  hobo  is  between  20  and  30  years  old.  He  can  make  a 
moving  train  going  from  fifteen  to  twenty  miles  an 'hour,  with 
the  pot-cocks  of  the  engine  wide  open  to  blind  him  and  keep 
him  off.  He  will  stop  in  a  town  until  driven  out  by  the  police, 
will  rob  a  box  car,  roll  a  drunk,  steal  chickens  for  the  jungle- 
buzzard,  build  fires  inside  of  cars  in  cold  weather,  use  the  rail- 
road company's  material  for  the  construction  of  small  shan- 
ties, terrorize  the  occupants  of  section  houses,  commit  petty 
thefts,  break  into  stores,  rob  stations  and  farm-houses,  beg  at 
junction  points,  assault  trainmen,  blow  safes,  and  some  of 
them  rise  to  the  dignity  of  beating  up  a  policeman  and  making 


48 

good  their  escape.  The  hobo  is  by  far  the  most  dangerous 
tramp. 

"A  stew  bum  is  what  is  left  of  a  hobo  when  he  becomes 
over  30  years  of  age.  He  cannot  'make'  a  passenger  train  any 
more.  He  hides  away  on  frieght  trains  when  traveling  and 
gets  on  when  they  are  stopped,  drinks  hard  when  he  can  get 
it,  helps  the  jungle-buzzard  to  cook  in  the  jungles,  is  an  ex- 
convict,  for  he  has  done  time  in  a  state  prison.  He  is  a  brok- 
en-down hobo  that  came  up  the  line  from  a  kid. 

"A  blanket  stiff  is  a  degenerated  workmgman.  You  will 
also  find  blanket  stiffs  who  come  up  the  line  from  kids  and 
hoboes,  but  as  they  are  between  40  and  60  years  of  age,  they 
are  harmless.  They  stow  away  in  an  empty  box-car  so  they 
won't  fall  off  the  train.  Railroad  men  treat  them  kindly  be- 
cause they  are  old.  They  carry  a  roll  of  old  gunny  sacks  or 
old  carpets  to  sleet)  in. 

"A  gay-cat  is  a  well-dressed  ^young  man  who  mixes  with 
tramps  in  order  to  get  over  the  road.  The  hoboes  make  the 
gay-cats  do  the  begging  at  junction  points  because  of  their 
good  appearance.  They  are  between  20  and  40  years  of  age. 
They  are  from  all  trades  and  professions. 

"A  jungle-buzzard  is  a  cross  between  a  prize  fighter  and 
a  jungle-cook.  When  there  is  a  large  crowd  in  the  jungle 
he  will  appoint  the  committees  on  bread,  potatoes,  chickens, 
beef,  hogs,  coffee,  sugar  and  money.  He  cooks  the  mulligan 
stews  with  the  assistance  of  the  stew  bums,  whom  he  makes 
step  lively.  He  also  beats  up  any  tramp  around  the  camp 
that  does  not  contribute  to  its  support.  He  is  generally  be- 
tween 35  and  40  years  of  age  and  was  once  an  able  fellow.'' 


CHAPTER    IV. 
ON  TO   FRISCO. 

Billy  and  I  had  a  long  wait  of  it  at  Dutch  Flat  before  we 
could  get  a  train  out  of  there.  We  were  on  the  Overland  line 
of  the  Southern  Pacific  railroad  over  which  passenger  and 
freight  trains  run  frequently,  but  the  kind  of  train  we  wanted 
did  not  show  up.  We  preferred  a  long  freight  train  which 
did  not  run  too  fast  for  we  wanted  to  have  a  good  look  at  the 
scenery.  So  many  'boes  had  spoken  favorably  of  California 
that  we  wondered  if  they  had  not  been  giving  us  a  cock- 
and-bull  story.  Seeing  is  believing,  thought  we. 

Near  the  wee  small  hours  of  the  morning,  after  passing  a 
night  of  oft  interrupted  slumber,  for  the  false  alarm  trains 
were  so  many,  a  long  mixed  train  came  along  and  made  quite 
a  stop  at  Dutch  Flat.  This  gave  us  plenty  of  time  to  recon- 
noiter,  so  we  carefully  picked  out  a  car  which  answered  our 
purpose  well  enough.  It  was  a  fairly  clean  oil-tanker,  a  big 
oil  tank  set  on  a  flat  car 

It  was  nearly  dawn  before  the  train  pulled  out  with  Billy 
and  I  aboard  of  her  and  it  was  mighty  cold  riding  at  that  hour 
of  the  day  going  down  the  mountains.  We  were  still  two  or 
three  thousand  feet  high  and  the  cold  breeze  that  the  swiftly 
moving  train  was  stirring  up  made  our  teeth  chatter.  Oh,  for 
a  cup  of  hot  coffee  just  then!  It  would  have  been  so  grate- 
ful, so  comforting!  Our  toes  and  noses  were  nearly  frozen 
and  the  riding  was  anything  but  a  pleasure.  After  an  inter- 
minably long  time,  so  it  seemed  to  us,  old  Sol  began  to  show 
his  smiling  countenance  over  the  hill-tops,  and  he  warmed  and 
livened  things  up  considerably.  He  warmed  our  hearts,  too, 
so  that  life  was  worth  living  once  more,  but  there  was  a 
great  void  in  our  stomachs,  for  we  had  not  eaten  anything  in 


50 

six  weeks,  it  seemed  to  us.  Where  we  were  to  breakfast  or 
dine,  we  had  not  the  faintest  notion. 

We  were  now  passing  through  a  pretty  country  again 
which  was  full  of  inspiring  scenery.  We  were  speeding  along 
the  narrow  rims  of  precipices  that  were  several  thousand  feet 
deep  and  which  made  us  hold  our  breaths,  for  had  the  train 
jumped  the  track  she  would  have  rolled  over  a  dozen  times 
or  more  before  she  would  have  landed  at  the  bottom,  and  then 
Avhere  would  Billy  and  I  have  been? 

We  made  a  brief  stop  at  Colfax,  which  was  a  junction 
from  whence  a  narrow  gauge  railroad  runs  to  Grass  Valley 
and  Nevada  City,  after  which  we  sped  on  to  Auburn,  a  pretty 
little  mountain  town  in  the  foothills  of  the  Sierras.  Just  be- 
fore we  got  to  Auburn  we  passed  Cape  Horn,  near  which  the 
scenery  is  awe-inspiring.  Here  the  American  River  winds 
through  a  narrow" mountain  pass,  or  canyon,  which  can  be  seen 
several  thousand  feet  below,  and  the  panoramas  unfolded  to 
our  gaze  as  we  were  whisked  around  dizzy  curves  were 
sublime.  Tree  and  verdure-clad  mountain  sides,  a  narrow, 
winding  river  that  seemed  like  a  thread,  a  wagon  road  run- 
ning along  side  of  it,  towering  mountain-walls  beside  the 
track,  were  some  of  the  scenes  that  we  gazed  upon.  Beyond 
Auburn  the  country  opened  up  and  the  mountains  began  to 
disappear.  Now,  there  were  only  foothills  to  be  seen  and  they 
were  nearly  all  covered  with  vines  and  fruit  trees.  These 
foothills  of  the  Sierras  are  famous  for  their  luscious  fruits 
and  it  is  said  that  oranges  and  lemons  ripen  earlier  there 
than  anywhere  else  in  the  United  States.  They  ripen  in  early 
November  and  reach  the  eastern  markets  about  a  month 
earlier  than  other  fruits  of  the  same  variety.  They  bring  the 
top  prices. 

The  oranges  were  ripening  just  then  and  it  did  our  eyes 
good- to  see  them.  Billy  and  I  would  much  rather  have  eaten 
a  few  of  them  than  to  have  been  merely  gazing  at  them.  The 
orange  tree  is  not  a  tall  tree,  but  it  has  deep  green,  shiny 
leaves  through  which  the  golden  fruit  peeps.  Billy  and  I  were 
more  than  ready  now  to  believe  the  tales  that  had  been  told 


51 

us  of  the  beauties  of  California;  in  fact  the  descriptions  had 
fallen  short  of  the  reality.  California  is  a  paradise  and  no 
mistake.  Everything  that  grows  there:  trees,  grain,  fruit, 
vegetation,  vegetables,  flowers — everything  blooms  luxuriantly 
and  great  in  size.  Things  grow  so  big  it  is  a  wonder  they  do 
not  burst.  This  is  not  a  fairy  tale  I  am  telling,  but  facts. 
While  other  states  were  already  bare,  cold  and  shivering, 
California  was  basking  in  warm  sunshine.  What  a  contrast! 

The  old-time  'boes  know  these  things  are  true.  They 
have  been  in  California  many  a  time  and  they  usually  spend 
the  winter  there,  basking  in  the  warm  sunlight  and  feasting 
off  the  fat  of  the  land.  You  will  find  them  strung  along  the 
right-of-way  from  Redding  to  San  Diego,  luxuriating  in  or- 
anges, grapes,  apples,  strawberries  and  other  delicacies  that 
grow  at  this  season  of  the  year  in  California.  In  the  spring- 
time they  fly  eastward  again  toward  their  homes,  but  not  a 
few  think  California  is  good  enough  for  them  and  honor  it  by 
making  it  their  permanent  abiding  place. 

The  old  train  shot  onward  past  Newcastle,  Penrhyn  and 
Loomis,  making  a  brief  stop  at  each  place,  but  not  long  enough 
to  give  us  a  chance  to  rustle  up  a  hand-out.  At  a  fruit  load- 
ing-shed near  Loomis,  Billy  swiped  some  grapes  which  we  ate 
but  they  did  not  diminish  our  appetite;  they  only  increased 
it 

Rocklin,  the  next  stop,  used  to  be  a  railroad  division 
point  on  the  Southern  Pacific  but  it  is  not  now.  It  lies  just 
at  the  base  of  the  Sierra  foothills  and  looks  like  a  deserted 
village,  for  the  railroad  paraphernalia  was  moved  to  Roseville, 
the  next  station  west. 

Leaving  Roseville,  we  made  no  more  stops  until  we  rolled 
into  Sacramento,  the  capital  of  California.  Although  it  is  the 
capital  it  is  not  the  largest  city  in  the  state  by  any  means, 
for  San  Francisco,  Oakland  and  Los  Angeles  are  larger. 

As  our  train  was  not  a  passenger  train  it  did  not  run  into 
the  station  but  was  switched  off  in  the  yards.  Billy  and  I 
swung  off  in  a  hurry  when  the  coast  was  clear,  for  bulls  and 
fly-cops  are  very  plentiful  in  those  yards  and  it  is  pretty  hard 


52        • 

to  avoid  them.  It  was  about  noon  when  we  made  our  debut 
in  the  yards,  and  after  slinging  our  blankets  over  our  should- 
ers we  trudged  onward  along  the  tracks  toward  the  city.  We 
leisurely  picked  our  way  along  the  maze  of  tracks  past  rail- 
road construction  shops,  repair  shops,  foundries,  etc.,  but 
though  we  were  stared  at  by  many  of  the  railroad  employes 
no  one  spoke  a  word  to  us.  It  was  the  noon  hour  any  way — 
eating  time.  We  gained  the  city  without  a  hold-up  or  mis- 
hap of  any  sort  and  wandered  through  Chinatown,  the  first 
street  we  came  to. 

Sacramento's  Chinatown  is  a  large,  ancient  and  malodor- 
ous one,  and  we  didn't  linger  in  it  very  long.  Prom  a  white 
man's  restaurant  run  by  Chinese  we  saw  a  good  natured  young 
man  emerge,  so  Billy  stepped  up  to  him  and  boned  him  for  the 
price  of  a  square  meal.  The  young  fellow  coughed  up  twenty- 
five  cents  which  'was  all  he  had,  he  said,  and  which  we  were 
mighty  glad  to  get,  for,  with  such  a  sum  we  could  purchase 
a  fair  supply  of  provisions.  We  bought  two  loaves  of  bread, 
a  hunk  of  bologna  and  some  pickles  and  then  eagerly  cast  our 
eyes  about  for  a  likely  spot  where  we  could  eat.  Chinatown 
was  a  little  too  unsavory  for  us,  so  we  sauntered  on  leisurely 
reconnoitering.  We  passed  a  street  called  J  street  and  then 
K  street,  but  kept  on  walking  until  we  saw  a  fine  big  plaza,  or 
park.  We  walked  up  to  and  in  to  it,  and  found  it  to  be  a 
spacious  and  pretty  breathing  spot,  at  the  further  end  of 
which  stood  the  State  Capitol  Building,  a  large,  fine  one. 
There  were  benches  in  this  park,  flower  beds,  plenty  of  trees, 
pampas-plume  bushes  and  walks. 

Here  Billy  and  I  concluded  to  strike  camp.  We  unslung 
our  blankets,  deposited  our  grub  on  a  bench  and  sat  down. 
We  felt  hot,  tired  and  dusty.  .Whew!  As  regards  our  appe- 
tite, gee  whiz!  It  did  not  take  us  long  to  wade  into  our  grub. 
While  eating  it,  Billy  growled  like  a  dog,  in  fun.  It  was  a 
way  he  had,  when  feeling  gay,  of  giving  vent  to  his  feeling? 
I  was  humming  a  tune  and  smiling  at  Billy's  dog  tricks. 

"Pretty  nice  park  this  Billy?" 


53 

Billy  continued  his  munching  and  growling.  He  was 
too  busy  to  talk. 

"•Look  over  there,  Billy,"  said  I,  pointing;  "see  those  yel- 
low balls  hanging  among  the  green  leaves?" 

"Oranges,  Windy,  as  sure  as  we're  alive,"  cried  Billy, 
excitedly.  "Keep  an  eye  on  my  grub  will  you,  till  I  get  a 
few?" 

Billy  was  excited  sure  enough  and  there  was  no  restrain- 
ing him.  He  was  off  like  a  shot,  but  I  shouted  after  him: 
"keep  your  eye  peeled  for  cops!"  The  little  cuss  didn't  hear 
me. 

Neither  of  us  had  eaten  any  oranges  right  off  the  trees, 
so  the  pleasures  of  hope  and  of  anticipation  were  great  within 
us.  I  was  as  eager  as  Billy.  Soon  the  little  Britisher  re- 
turned with  half  a  dozen  big  oranges  which  he  had  stowed 
away  in  his  pickets.  They  made  his  pockets  bulge  out  like 
sacks.  Billy  drew  forth  one  orange  after  another. 

"Say,  ain't  they  beauties?"  remarked  I,  with  my  eyes 
bulging  in  anticipation. 

"Well,  I  rawther  guess,"  responded  Billy,  getting  off  some 
of  his  Britishisms. 

We  peeled  the  oranges  and  then  sat  down  contentedly 
to  eat  them.  Billy  bit  into  his  first  and  after  doing  so  made  a 
wry  face. 

"What's  the  matter,  lad?"  inquired  I. 

Billy's  mouth  was  all  puckered  up.  "Why,  they're  bitter 
as  gall.  Booh!"  exclaimed  he,  as  he  flung  the  oranges  over 
his  shoulder  into  the  bushes  behind  him.  I  tasted  one  and 
found  it  bitter  as  gall. 

"Say,  Billy,  we've  been  misinformed.  The  California 
oranges  are  N.  G.  We've  been  buncoed." 

"Right  you  are,  me  covey,"  responded  Billy.  "I've  had 
enough  of  them." 

A  fierce  thirst  now  assailed  us,  due  probably  to  the  spice 
in  the  bologna,  so  we  went  to  a  drinking  fountain  near  by 
where  we  drank  a  few  cups  full  of  rather  muddy  water. 
After  that  we  pulled  forth  our  pipes  and  indulged  in  a  smoke. 


54 

What  we  had  seen  of  Sacramento  kind  of  looked  good  to 
us.  The  place  had  the  appearance  of  an  over-grown  village 
which  had  been  transmogrified  into  a  city  gradually.  It  was 
right  up-to-date  though,  for  it  had  street  cars,  electric  lights 
and  all  the  other  modern  improvements. 

"This  town  looks  good  to  me,  Billy;  suppose  we  camp 
here  for  awhile;  you  know  we  are  broke  and  maybe  we  may 
be  able  to  get  something  to  do.  We  will  need  a  few  dollars 
when  we  get  into  Frisco." 

"Right  you  are.  Maybe  we  can  get  a  job  here.  Let's  try," 
said  Billy. 

We  struck  a  job  the  very  next  morning  at  street  work 
near  the  Sacramento  River  levee.  The  street  was  being  re- 
paired and  men  were  wanted.  We  were  offered  two  dollars 
a  day  which  we  gladly  accepted.  We  held  down  the  job  for 
nearly  a  week. 

We  soon  learned  that  the  drinking  water  of  Sacramento 
was  not  of  good  quality,  for  it  is  taken  from  the  Sacramento 
River  and  is  impure,  therefore  we  took  to  drinking  Sacra- 
mento steam-beer  straight  and  found  it  good.  We  heard  a 
whole  lot  of  talk- about  the  Native  Sons.  This  is  an  organiza- 
tion composed  of  young  men  who  were  born  and  raised  in 
California  and  who  take  a  pride  in  their  native  State  and 
make  it  their  business  to  preserve  its  big  trees,  landmarks, 
old  missions  and  other  things  worth  preserving.  They 
monopolize  all  the  good  things  in  the  way  of  jobs,  we  were 
told,  but  we  did  not  find  this  to  be  the  case.  We  found  the 
people  of  Sacramento  to  be  an  open-hearted,  approachable, 
friendly  sort  of  people,  who  treat  strangers  fine. 

Unfortunately,  Billy  developed  a  clear  case  of  the  shakes 
before  we  had  been  in  Sacramento  many  days,  which  put  him 
in  a  pretty  bad  way.  I  don't  know  whether  it  was  the  water 
or  the  air  that  made  him  sick,  but  the  poor  little  fellow  was 
taken  suddenly  one  afternoon.  A  high  fever  set  in,  his  teeth 
rattled  like  clappers  and  he  shook  like  an  aspen  leaf.  Our 
mates  told  us  that  quinine  and  whisky  was  the  proper  remedy 
for  this  malady,  so  I  bought  a  bottle  of  whisky,  put  quinine 


55 

into  it  and  poured  the  whole  bottle-full  down  Billy's  throat  at 
once.  The  poor  cuss  took  to  it  as  naturally  as  does  a  kid  to 
its  mother's  milk,  but  it  did  him  no  good.  He  became  unable 
to  work  or  leave  his  room.  His  head  was  all  wrong,  he  told 
me,  and  he  was  as  weak  as  a  kitten  after  each  shake.  He 
surely  was-  in  a  bad  way.  I  suggested  that  we  get  out  of 
Sacramento  as  soon  as  possible,  for  change  of  air  and  scene 
might  be  good.  Billy  was  indifferent  and  did  not  care  whether 
he  stayed  there  or  died. 

I  went  to  the  construction  boss,  drew  our  pay  and  very 
soon  afterward  we  had  left  Sacramento  behind  us  and  were 
crossing  the  Sacramento  River  on  a  bridge.  Billy  was  so 
weak  on  his  pins  that  he  could  scarcely  walk,  so  I  made  him 
put  his  arm  around  my  shoulder.  I  put  an  arm  around  his 
waist,  and  thus  we  moved  along.  Billy  staggered  and  the  peo- 
ple who  saw  us  undoubtedly  thought  that  both  of  us  were 
drunk,  but  we  didn't  care  what  they  thought. 

After  we  had  got  about  half  way  across  the  long  bridge, 
Billy  sat  doVn  on  a  string-piece  and  declared  he  could  go  no 
further.  He  told  me  to  go  on  and  to  let  him  die  in  peace. 

"What,  you  silly  little  Britisher,  you  want  to  croak,  do 
you?  Croak  nothing!  You  ain't  any  nearer  death  than  I  am. 
All  you  need  is  a  little  rest  and  then  we'll  hike  along  a  little 
further,  where  we  can  catch  a  train;  then,  ho!  for  Frisco, 
where  our  troubles  will  soon  be  ended.  You  know  we  can't 
make  a  train  in  Sacramento,  for  the  bulls  would  get  on  to 
us  and  run  us  in;  as  soon  as  we  catch  a  train  our  troubles 
will  be  over.  You  hear  me?" 

Billy  listened  to  this  long  speech  of  mine  with  closed 
eyes.  He  frowned  and  said  he  was  in  a  bad  way.  I  tried  to 
jolly  him  along  and  to  put  some  heart  into  him,  for  we  had 
to  get  out  of  this,  even  if  I  had  to  drag  him  out. 

"Come,  Billy,  this  won't  do.  You  ain't  a  dead  one  yet. 
Just  because  you  have  the  belly-ache  you  think  you're  going 
to  croak.  You're  about  the  chicken-heartedest,  most  cowardly 
little  cuss  1  ever  run  up  against;  you  haven't  got  more  sand 


50 

about  you  than  a  kid.  Come,  brace  up;  be  a  man  and  have 
some  style  about  you!" 

I  tried  to  stir  the  little  cuss  up,  and  to  get  liim  mad,  but 
it  was  no  go.  I  grabbed  him  by  the  arm  after  we  had  rested 
long  enough  ami  told  him  it  was  time  to  go.  He  did  not 
want  to  go  but  I  made  him. 

''You'll  be  all  right  as  soon  as  we  get  away  from  this 
malaria  country.  Frisco  is  near  the  ocean  air  and  will  make 
you  feel  like  a  fighting-cock.  Come  on,  you  chicken-hearted 
little  Britisher,  get  some  life  into  you!  Don't  give  in  to  a 
trifle  like  that." 

"Trifle?"  indignantly  replied  Billy  in  a  weak  voice.  "If 
you  felt  as  I  do  you  wouldn't  feel  so  gay." 

"No  back  talk,  now,  kid!  You  come  along  with  me.  You 
hear  me?" 

I  had  a  pretty  hard  time  of  it  with  the  little  fellow,  but 
I  showed  no  pity  for  him  and  had  no  mercy  on  him.  I  knew 
he'd  soon  be  all  right  when  we  got  away  from  Sacramento, 
and  I  was  determined  to  get  him  away. 

In  due  time  we  made  a  freight  train  going  toward  Frisco, 
and  held  her  down  until  she  reached  Benicia  where  there 
was  a  long  stop.  We  stopped  there  so  long  that  I  hopped 
off  to  see  what  the  trouble  was.  Why,  we  were  entirely  sur- 
rounded by  water  and  could  go  no  further.  I  returned  to 
Billy  and  told  him  what  the  trouble  was.  He  said  he  didn't 
care  a  darn  whether  we  ever  got  to  Frisco  or  not. 

"You  don't,  eh?  well  I  do.  You  can  stay  here  as  long  as 
you  like."  With  this  I  jumped  off  the  car  again  to  reconnoiter, 
to  see  what  was  best  to  be  done.  If  Billy  wanted  to  be 
grouchy,  all  right.  Let  him  get  over  it  the  best  way  he 
could. 

There  was  a  pretty  wide  river,  or  bay,  here,  I  noticed, 
and  the  railroad  track  led  into  a  ferry  house,  so  I  imagined 
that  the  train  would  be  ferried  across  the  water;  and  so  it 
proved.  An  immense  ferryboat,  called  the  Solano,  soon  came 
puffing  along  and  eventually  made  fast  in  her  slip.  As  soon 
as  she  had  been  made  fast,  the  freight  cars  were  rolled  on 


57 

to  her — I  counted  thirty-two  of  them — then  away  we  slowly 
steamed  across  the  bay.  I  returned  to  Billy  and  informed 
him  that  we  were  traveling  on  the  water  in  a  railroad  car. 
He  stared.  I  explained. 

"Where  are  we  bound  for?"  asked  Billy. 

"To  Frisco,  of  course;  where  else?  Would  you  like  to 
go  back  to  Sacramento?" 

"Not  on  your  life!     I  had  rather  croak." 

"All  right,  Billy;  you  don't  have  to.  We're  making  a 
bee-line  for  Frisco  now,  and  we'll  soon  be  there.  Cheer  up, 
kid;  you  aint  a  dead  one  yet. 

Billy  heard  but  he  didn't  say  any  thing.  He  rolled  over 
in  his  blankets  and  grunted.  I  felt  like  giving  him  a  kick 
in  the  rump,  for  it  would  have  got  him  mad  and  fired  him  up 
a  bit,  but  I  didn't  do  so.  Instead,  I  said  to  him:  "we're  on 
the  water,  now,  Billy.  Sit  up  and  sniff  the  salt  breezes; 
they'll  do  you  good." 

Billy  sat  up  and  looked  through  the  partly  open  doorway 
where  the  shore  lights  and  stars  were  visible,  but  he  kept 
mum  for  a  while.  Finally  he  enquired:  "Is  it  far  to  Frisco, 
yet?" 

"About  thirty  miles,"  replied  I,  consulting  a  time  table. 
"We'll  be  in  Frisco  in  about  ah  hour,  if  nothing  happens." 

We  both  lay  down  and  fell  asleep,  but  were  soon  awaken- 
ed by  a  bump.  More  switching  was  going  on.  This  was 
Port  Costa,  a  station  across  ,the  bay.  We  stopped  here  for 
quite  a  while,  so  Billy  and  I  put  in  the  time  snoozing.  Later 
on,  another  bump  awakened  us.  We  were  stopping  at  Pinole. 

"My  goodness  gracious!  Isn't  this  train  ever  going  to 
get  to  Frisco?"  peevishly  murmured  Billy  to  no  one  in  par- 
ticular. 

"I'd  advise  you  to  hire  a  special  train  if  you're  in  a 
hurry,"  sarcastically  advised  I,  as  I  rolled  over  to  woo  the 
drowsy  goddess — Miss  Murphy,  once  more.  I  felt  crusty  my- 
self at  the  many  delays. 

As  it  was  near  daylight  when  our  train  stopped  in  Oak- 
land, we  concluded  to  remain  there  in  the  car  and  have  our 


58 

sleep  out,  for  no  one  would  molest  us  at  that  hour  of  the 
day,  we  felt  sure.  Nor  did  anyone  do  so.  We  were  well 
concealed  in  an  enclosed  box-car  and  had  closed  the  door 
tight.  I  don't  know  how  long  the  sun  light  had  been  stream- 
ing through  a  chink  in  the  door  before  we  awoke.  Billy  was 
feeling  a  good  deal  better,  he  told  me,  and  was  able  to  arise 
and  to  jump  out  of  the  car  after  me. 

"Where  are  we,  Windy?" 

"We're  in  Oakland,  opposite  Frisco.  What  a  beautiful 
morning  it  is!.  How's  your  appetite,  Billy?" 

"Ain't  got  any,"  sourly  replied  Billy. 

"Well,  let's  make  tracks  then  for  Frisco.  Maybe  by  the 
time  we  get  over  there  we'll  -both  of  us  feel  like  tackling 
something.  There's  one  more  river  to  cross,  though,  I  see, 
before  we  can  get  to  Frisco.  We'll  have  to  walk  along  that 
wharf  there,"  explained  I,  pointing  to  a  long  trestle  or  wharf 
extending  a  mile  or  so  into  the  bay,  "and  after  that  there'll 
be  a  ferry  to  cross;  this  time  we'll  have  to  dig  up  to  get 
across  or  swim.  Which  do  you  prefer?" 

Billy  concluded  he'd  rather  dig  up,  and  so  did  I. 

It  was  now  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The  sun 
was  well  up  in  the  heavens,  a  pure,  fresh,  balmy  breeze  was 
blowing  and  as  Billy  and  I  walked  along  the  "mole,"  as  it  is 
called,  we  felt  bright  and  invigorated.  Although  it  was  now 
the  month  of  November  there  were  no  evidences  of  winter 
at  hand  for  all  nature  seemed  bright,  smiling  and  warm.  Billy 
felt  much  better  and  walked  along  slowly,  a  big  smile  spread- 
ing over  his  face.  He  tried  to  hum  a  tune  from  a  comic 
opera.  He  had  not  the  appearance  of  a  dead  man  yet. 

We  walked  into  the  ferry-house  on  the  Oakland  side, 
which  is  the  terminus  of  all  overland  trains,  and  I  slammed 
down  two  dimes  at  the  ticket  window,  whereupon  two  ferry 
tickets  were  shoved  out  to  me.  We  went  aboard  the  ferry 
boat.  It  was  a  fine  one.  On  the  lower  decks  were  runways 
for  vehicles,  and  at  either  side  of  them  were  seats  for  pas- 
sengers. On  the  upper  decks  were  cabins  which  were  fitted 
up  handsomely.  The  boat  was  wide,  roomy  and  spacious  and 


59 

could  hold  a  multitude  of  people,  thousands  of  them,  without 
crowding  anyone.  Billy  and  I  went  upstairs,  for  we  wanted 
to  get  an  elevated  view  of  the  scenery.  The  boat  moved  out 
from  her  slip  rapidly,  her  whistles  blowing  and  her  twin 
screws  going  at  a  great  rate,  causing  the  boat  to  shiver  and 
tremble. 

Very  speedily  we  came  abreast  of  an  island  called  Goat 
Island,  some  one  informed  us,  and  Billy  wanted  to  know 
why  it  was  called  Goat  Island. 

"Search  me,  Billy.  I  suppose  there  are  a  lot  of  billies 
and  nannies  on  it.  It  looks  as  if  there  might  be." 

We  were  in  San  Francisco  Bay,  now,  said  to  be  the  sec- 
ond finest  in  the  world,  Sydney  Bay,  in  Australia  being  first. 
San  Francisco  Bay  is  about  100  miles  long  and  averages 
about  five  miles  in  width;  it  is  entirely  land-locked,  affording 
a  secure  retreat  from  storms  for  vessels  of  any  size  or  depth. 
The  navies  of  the  whole  world  could  easily  find  room  in  this 
bay  without  crowding  each  other,  and  have  safe  anchorage 
as  well.  It  is  this  magnificent  bay,  the  finest  in  the  United 
States,  that  will  some  day  make  San  Francisco  one  of  the 
largest  cities  in  the  country:  Today,  San  Francisco  is  the 
metropolis  of  the  Coast,  although  other  cities  dispute  the 
claim.  Los  Angeles  is  a  rival,  and  so  are  Portland,  Tacoma 
and  Seattle.  These  cities  have  fine  harbors,  too,  and  are 
building  up  rapidly. 

We  were  nearing  Frisco.  Telegraph  Hill,  behind  the 
waterfront,  loomed  up  plainly  and  we  could  see  that  the  whole 
city  was  built  on  hills  and  in  valleys.  The  city  looked  good 
to  us  from  the  distance.  We  saw  plenty  of  wharves  and  ship- 
ping and  a  very  long  ferry-house  with  a  tall  clock-tower  upon 
it.  The  waters  of  the  bay  were  fairly  alive  with  crafts  of 
all  sorts,  from  launches  and  tugs  to  steamboats,  ferry-boats, 
ocean  liners  and  warships,  the  latter  being  anchored  in  the 
stream  pretty  far  out.  The  view  was  a  lively  one  and  in- 
terested us  considerably. 


CO 

"It  won't  be  long  now  before  we  will  breakfast  Billy. 
How  would  a  big  porterhouse  steak,  smothered  in  onions 
fit  you?"  asked  I. 

"Nit!"  answered  Billy.  "Mutton  chops,  tea  and  toast 
for  me." 

After  our  boat  had  been  moored  fast  in  her  slip,  we 
rushed  off  with  the  rest  of  the  passengers  and  had  a  look 
around  on  shore.  Near  the  ferry-house  where  we  had  landed 
there  were  saloons,  restaurants*  oyster-houses,  fruit  stores  and 
many  other  kinds  of  stores,  business  establishments,  free- 
lunch  emporiums,  ship-outfitting  shops  and  a  multiplicity  of 
car  tracks  along  the  wide  street  on  which  cars  ran  in  every 
direction.  The  street  in  front  of  the  ferry-house  was  several 
hundred  feet  in  width  and  afforded  ample  space  for  all 
kinds  of  traffic.  ' 

"What's  the  first  thing  on  the  programme,  Billy,"  asked  I. 

"Breakfast  of  course,"  answered  he. 

We  did  not  have  far  to  go  to  find  a  restaurant.  Right 
opposite  the  ferry-house  was  an  establishment  of  that  sort 
which  had  enamel-letter  signs  on  the  front  windows  an- 
nouncing what  there  was  to  be  had  inside.  We  went  in  and 
found  the  place  to  be  a  very  neat,  orderly  and  well  kept  one. 
Billy  ordered  mutton  chops,  tea  and  toast.  I  thought  that  a 
big  steak  smothered  in  onions  would  about  hit  me  right.  A 
scrumptious  steak  was  brought  me,  cooked  fine,  with  plenty 
of  fried  potatoes,  hot  rolls  and  butter,  and  a  cup  of  delicious 
coffee.  On  the  table  were  plates  heaped  high  with  bread  of 
various  kinds  (including  one  kind  with  raisins  in  it),  and 
various  kinds  of  sauces,  condiments  and  pickles.  The  lay-out 
was  more  than  generous.  Billy  had  a  bird-like  appetite  and 
just  pecked  at  things,  but  I  made  up  for  the  two  of  us.  I  ate 
so  much  that  I  grew  ashamed  of  myself.  Everything  tasted 
so  good.  We  never  had  a  better  meal  anywhere,  at  any 
price,  and  the  price  was  only  twenty-five  cents  for  each. 

After  emerging  from  the  restaurant  we  stood  in  front 
of  it  for  a  moment  picking  our  teeth  and  talking. 

"What's  the  next  thing  on  the  programme,  Billy?" 


61 

"Furnished  room,"  laconically  answered  Billy. 

In  search  of  a  furnished  room  we  went.  The  saloons  in 
that  vicinity  attracted  our  notice.  They  were  handsome  and 
distingue,  for  the  floors  were  inlaid  with  marble,  the  bars 
were  of  costly  wood  and  elaborately  carved,  the  back-bars 
were  fitted  up  with  elegant  glassware,  decanters,  bottles, 
etc.,  and  the  establishments  seemed  swell.  Evidently  Frisco 
is  a  wen  place,  for  almost  every  other  establishment  was  a 
swell-looking  one.  The  fruit  stores,  also  attracted  our  at- 
tention. Such  fruit  we  had  never  seen  before.  There  were 
large  yellow  grape-fruits  piled  up  in  heaps;  immense  oranges; 
luscious  grapes  of  several  varieties,  such  as  flame  tokay, 
muscat,  etc.;  fine  looking  apples,  large  fancy  pears,  persim- 
mons, nectarines,  figs,  dates,  olives,  strawberries  as  big  as 
walnuts,  nuts  and  vegetables  of  all  kinds.  All  were  so  big, 
and  luscious  that  it  was  a  treat  to  see  them. 

"How  does  Frisco  strike  you,  Billy?"  asked  I. 

"Just  right,"  answered  Billy.  "I  think  I  will  live  and 
die  here." 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  like  to  be  found  dead  here,"  said  I, 
but,  I'm  willing  to  live  here,  for  a  while,  at  any  rate." 

On  we  went  along  the  main  street  opposite  the  ferry- 
house,  and  then  we  went  into  side-streets,  in  which  were 
groggeries  with  dance-hall  attachments.  Some  of  these 
seemed  pretty  tough  joints. 

Down  on  Pacific  street,  Billy  and  I  rented  a  room  in  a 
lodging  house  for  the  two  of  us  for  $1.50  per  week.  The 
price  seemed  reasonable  to  us.  In  the  room  was  a  bedstead 
of  iron  framework,  a  bare  floor,  a  chair,  a  box  with  a  tin 
basin  standing  on  it,  and  a  towel.  Only  this  and  nothing 
more.  It  was  enough,  though,  for  our  purposes,  for  neither 
of  us  were  high  toned. 

We  threw  our  blankets  down  on  the  floor,  undressed, 
took  a  wash  and  then  felt  refreshed  and  comfortable.  Billy 
lay  down  on  the  bed  for  a  little  while,  and  I  sat  down  on  a 
chair  near  him  where  we  could  chat  without  raising  our 
voices  too  high.  Nothing  worth  recording  was  said,  however. 


G2 

After  a  while  I  suggested  that  we  take  a  short  stroll  along 
the  waterfront  to  view  the  shipping.  Billy  was  agreeable 
for  he  thought  with  me,  that  the  more  fresh  air  he  got  the 
sooner  would  he  be  well. 

At  Howard-street  wharf  we  noticed  a  black,  squat,  rather 
square  and  grimy  ship  moored  to  the  wharf,  which  we  di- 
vined at  once  was  a  whaler,  for  the  cut  of  her  proclaimed  it. 

Along  this  same  wharf  we  noticed  a  large  English  ship 
moored,  and  a  German  bark.  The  English  ship  had  the  name 
"Selkirk,"  painted  on  her  stern,  and  the  German  bark  the 
word  "Neckar."  The  English  ship,  a  tall  four-master  flew 
the  British  flag,  and  was  huge  in  dimensions.  A  long  stair- 
way, or  gangplank  led  from  the  wharf  to  her  deck.  When 
Billy  saw  the  British  flag  flying,  tears  came  to  his  eyes  and 
he  grew  homesick. 

"I'm  going  aboard  of  that  vessel  to  have  a  look  at  her. 
Come  with  me,  will  you,  Windy?"  entreated  Billy. 

"I  don't  think  they'll  let  us  on  board." 

"Why  not?"  asked  Billy. 

"Because  we  have  no  business  there,"  answered  I. 

"Aw  let's  go  up,  anyway;  they  can't  do  more  than  fire  us 
down." 

"All  right,  Billy;  you  go  up  first." 

Up  we  went  slowly  and  carefully,  and  when  we  came  to 
the  deck  a  sailor  approached  us  and  with  an  English  accent 
asked  us  what  our  business  was.  Billy  told  him  that  he  was 
English  and  that  as  he  saw  the  English  flag  flying  he  felt 
like  going  aboard  to  have  a  look  around. 

"It's  against  the  rules,  h'im  sorry  to  say.  My  h'orders  is 
to  let  no  one  on  deck.  Very  sorry,  but  I  can't  let  you 
on  deck." 

Billy  was  very  much  disappointed  and  groped  his  way 
down  again  after  me,  silent  and  dejected. 

The  German  vessel,  the  "Neckar,"  also  was  a  fine,  large 
ship,  but  Billy  did  not  want  to  go  aboard  of  her.  One  un- 
pleasant experience  was  enough  for  him. 


G3 

At  this  wharf  we  noticed  some  fishing  going  on  by  men 
and  boys  who  had  lines  in  the  water.  Now  and  then  a  small 
fish  would  be  hooked  and  hauled  up  by  some  lucky  fisherman 
but  more  young  sharks  were  caught  than  any  thing  else. 
Wherever  a  shark  was  pulled  up  the  owner  of  the  line  be- 
came disgusted  and  angry,  and  stamped  out  the  life  of  the 
unfortunate  denizen  of  the  deep  as  soon  as  it  was  taken  off 
the  hook.  Why  this  animosity  against  the  shark  I  do  not 
know,  but  I  heard  some  one  say  that  sharks  destroy  the 
fishermen's  nets,  eat  other  fish  and  are  a  general  nuisance. 

San  Francisco  Bay  and  adjacent  waters  abound  with  a 
variety  of  fish,  such  as,  salmon,  sturgeon,  rock  cod,  barracouta, 
pompano,  sole,  torn-cod,  cod,  turbot,  mackerel,  sardines,  jelly- 
fish, shad,  shark,  porpoises,  tuna  (jew-fish),  halibut,  flounders, 
skate,  bull-heads,  cat-fish,  carp;  and  crustaceans,  such  as, 
crabs,  shrimps,  abalones,  oysters  and  clams. 

The  clams  are  large,  but  the  oysters  are  small,  hardly 
larger  than  a  twenty-five  cent  piece.  The  abalones,  however, 
are  several  times  larger  than  a  large  eastern  oyster  and  are 
good  eating  when  they  are  cooked  right.  Many  of  them  are 
put  up  in  cans  and  shipped  to  all  parts  of  the  world. 

Billy  and  I  remained  at  the  wharf  a  long  while,  sitting 
on  a  string-piece,  enjoying  the  delicious  air  and  sun  light, 
and  chatting.  Billy's  shakes  had  evaporated  and  he  was  be- 
ginning to  feel  like  a  new  man. 

We  bummed  around  the  waterfront  nearly  all  day,  view- 
ing the  ships  and  along-shore  objects,  and  the  sights  were 
varied  and  interesting.  Goat  Island  and  the  Alameda 
county  shore  loomed  up  plainly  from  the  wharves. 

We  had  supper  at  about  six  o'clock  and  after  strolling 
about  a  bit  afterward  among  the  dance-halls,  concert-halls, 
doggeries,  etc.,  we  went  to  bed  to  have  a  good  night's  sleep. 
We  needed  it.  Some  time  after  we  had  turned  off  the  light 
and  composed  ourselves  for  slumber  Billy  got  restless  and 
kept  a-twitching  and  a-turning. 

''What's  ailing  you,  Billy?  Why  don't  you  go  to  sleep? 
Why  don't  you  lie  quiet?"  asked  I  testily. 


G4    ' 

"I  don't  know  what  the  matter  is.  There's  something 
biting  me." 

"Biting  you!''  exclaimed  I  in  astonishment  and  alarm, 
for  maybe  I  might  get  bitten  too.  "Let's  get  up  and  see  if 
there's  anything  in  the  bed." 

I  hopped  out  first,  for  I  lay  in  front  and  turned  on  the 
light,  whereupon  Billy  hopped  out  after  me.  Billy  flung  the 
bedclothes  over  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  there  we  noticed 
several  good-sized  fleas  hopping  around  at  a  lively  rate  to 
find  shelter  and  safety.  Aha!  that's  what  the  trouble  was, 
eh!  You  should  have  seen  Billy  and  I  go  for  them  fleas.  We 
made  a  dive  for  one,  cussing  him  to  beat  the  band  and  trying 
to  hold  him  down  under  a  finger,  but  he  was  too  nimble.  Not 
a  flea  could  we  catch,  but  we  gave  them  a  pretty  good  scare. 
That  was  worth  something.  We  went  to  bed  again  and  put  in 
a  bad  night,  at  least  Billy  did;  but  the  bloodthirsty  little 
creatures  didn't  bother  me  any.  Maybe  my  hide  was  too 
thick. 

When  Billy  got  up  the  next  morning  he  pulled  off  his 
shirt  and  showed  me  his  bare,  white  skin  which  was  all  eat 
up. 

"Look  at  that,  will  you,"  said  Billy,  mad  as  blazes.  "Isn't 
that  awful?" 

"Yes,  it  is,"  replied  I,  but  it  can't  be  helped.  You'll  have 
to  grin  and  bear  it,  Billy.  I  guess  that's  what  all  Frisco 
people  have  to  do  when  they  get  flea  bitten." 


CHAPTER  V. 
SAN   FRANCISCO. 

A  brief  description  of  San  Francisco  may  not  be  out  of 
place  here: 

San  Francisco  has  about  half  a  million  of  inhabitants. 
It  lies  partly  along  the  shores  of  San  Francisco  Bay  (which 
connects  with  the  ocean  five  miles  away  through  the  Golden 
Gate)  and  until  1849  it  did  not  amount  to  much.  After  the 
discovery  of  gold,  people  flocked  to  it  from  all  parts  of  the 
world  so  that  even  today  its  population  is  a  very  mixed  one. 

One  will  not  find  a  city  with  a  more  mixed  population 
anywhere,  and  the  result  is  that  San  Francisco  today  is  one 
of  the  gayest,  liveliest,  dizziest  cities  to  be  found  anywhere. 
Friscoites  call  their  city  the  Paris  of  America  and  if  the  Par- 
isians love  fun  more,  then  they  must  be  fun-loving  indeed. 

Money  is  made  easily  on  the  Pacific  Slope  and  every  one 
can  have  a  good  time,  more 'or  less,  according  to  his  desires 
and  means.  The  least  coin  used  is  a  nickel — five  cents — and 
it  don't  take  many  a  nickel  to  make  a  dollar.  Every  one, 
nearly,  makes  money  and  feels  like  letting  it  go.  There  are 
fast  girls  in  Frisco  without  number,  bunco-steerers,  music- 
halls,  gamblers,  dance-halls,  dives,  low  theatres,  saloons  of 
all  grades,  restaurants  in  great  numbers  and  many  amusement 
places. 

The  Chinese  have  some  fine  restaurants  and  so  have  the 
French,  the  Greeks,  the  Spanish,  Italians,  Germans  and 
others.  For  a  dollar  one  can  get  a  good  dinner,  including 
wine  in  many  restaurants,  and  in  some  for  more  or  less.  Some 
French  dinners  at  75  cents  the  plate  are  not  at  all  bad. 

Theatres,  moving  picture  shows,  etc.,  are  so  numerous 
that  one  is  puzzled  where  to  go.  One  can  take  in  a  show 


GC 

from  five  cents  up,  and  see  a  fairly  good  show  even  for  that 
low  price. 

Since  the  earthquake — April,  1906 — laws  have  been  en- 
acted in  San  Francisco  prohibiting  gambling,  horse-racing, 
etc.,  but  one  might  as  well  try  to  sweep  back  the  ocean  with 
a  broom  as  to  try  to  stop  such  sports.  The  people  like  sport 
and  will  have  it,  and  they  do  have  it,  law  or  no  law. 

They  like  good  eating  and  drinking,  too,  theatres,  balls, 
dances,  functions  of  all  sorts,  bridge,  whist,  poker,  joy- 
riding  and  any  or  every  thing  that  thrills  or  exhilirates. 

No  San  Franciscan  living  today  will  forget  April  1906— 
the  time  of  the  earthquake — for  it  changed  the  appearance 
of  San  Francisco  wholly.  Before  that  period  the  buildings 
were  mainly  of  wood,  but  since  the  quake,  which  destroyed 
nearly  the  whole  city,  all  the  buildings  in  the  business  sec- 
tion have  been  reconstructed  of  stone,  iron  and  other  inde- 
structible materials.  In  consequence  the  old  appearance  of 
the  city  has  been  changed  and  it  is  not  what  it  used  to  be. 
It  is  newer,  more  substantial,  and  handsomer.  The  old  atmo- 
sphere is  gone.  The  earthquake  did  not  affect  the  disposi- 
tion of  the  San  Franciscans,  however,  for  it  is  just  the  same. 
They  love  their  pleasure  just  as  much  as  ever,  and  maybe 
more  so. 

For  some  reason  or  other — I  cannot  understand  why — 
San  Francisco  people  do  not  like  to  have  their  city  called 
FYisco,  for  they  say  to  call  it  so  is  a  slur.  The  old  San  Fran- 
ciscans were  not  so  particular,  but  maybe  they  are  getting 
classy  and  high  toned  nowadays  because  their  new  buildings 
are  large,  elegant  and  imposing,  and  they  wish  to  show  the 
world  that  they  are  refined  as  well  as  fun-loving.  That  they 
are  hospitable  there  can  be  no  doubt,  for  all  the  world  is 
aware  of  that  fact.  Artists,  prize  fighters  and  others  make 
more  money  in  Frisco,  usually,  than  jthey  do  in  any  other 
city,  and  the  reason  for  it  is  that  the  Friscoites  are  easily 
parted  from  their  money. 

But  why  should  they  object  to  having  their  city  called 
''Frisco?"  Sacramento  is  called  "Sac";  Los  Angeles  is  called 


"Los";  San  Bernardino  is  called  "San  Berdoo";  San  Buena 
Ventura  is  called  "Ventura";  Philadelphia  is  called  "Philly"; 
New  York  City  is  called  "little  old  New  York,"  "Gotham,"  and 
other  pet  names;  Chicago  is  called  "Chi,"  and  so  forth,  and  so 
forth.  Why  should  San  Francisco  object  to  a  pet  name? 

Market  street  is  the  main  thoroughfare  of  Frisco — excuse 
me,  I  should  say,  San  Francisco.  It  begins  at  the  Ferry-house, 
and  extends  up  several  miles  to  the  mountains.  It  is  a  broad 
and  handsome  thoroughfare,  traversed  by  many  street  car 
lines,  and  it  is  the  main  shopping  centre.  From  Third  street 
up,  it  is  thronged  with  people  all  day  long  and  far  into  the 
night.  On  Market  street  are  situated  the  big  daily  news- 
paper buildings,  many  wholesale  and  retail  establishments, 
banks,  office-buildings,  fine  stores,  etc.  On  some  of  the  side- 
streets,  however,  there  are  also  handsome  establishments. 

Third  street,  which  before  the  quake,  was  built  up  with 
two  and  three-story  wooden  shacks,  now  has  stone  and  brick 
structures  only,  and  some  of  them  are  sykscrapers.  The 
same  may  be  said  of  Fourth,  Fifth,  Sixth  and  other  south  of 
Market  streets.  They  are  not  yet  built  up  as  solidly  as  they 
had  been,  but  the  buildings  that  now  go  up  are  not  shacks. 
Thus  the  appearance  of  San  Francisco  has  been  changed 
greatly  since  the  fire  and  earthquake.  The  old  almosphere 
is  gone  never  to  come  again. 

One  of  the  chief  features  of  Frisco  is  her  climate,  which 
registers  about  GO  degrees  by  the  thermometer  all  the  year 
round.  This  is  a  spring-like  temperature  and  can't  be  beat 
the  world  over.  It  compares  with  the  temperature  of  such 
favored  cities  #s  Nice,  in  France;  Trieste,  in  Austria;  Naples, 
in  Italy;  Cadiz,  in  Spain,  etc.,  and  means  long  life,  joy  and 
happiness  to  those  who  can  live  in  such  a  climate,  and  know 
how  to  take  care  of  themselves. 

Extreme  heat  or  cold  are  unknown,  as  are  frost  and  snow. 
Many  people  in  San  Francisco  never  have  seen  snow.  It 
does  not  fall  there  often,  nor  does  ice  form.  Flowers  bloom 
the  year  round.  But  it  has  its  drawbacks,  too. 


G8 

Fogs  drive  in  from  the  ocean  during  the  summer  time, 
rendering  the  atmosphere  raw  and  chill,  and  there  are  earth- 
quakes there,  too,  occasionally.  But  these  prevail  all  over 
the  world. 

As  a  rule,  the  weather  in  Frisco  is  far  more  beautiful  in 
the  winter  time  than  it  is  in  the  summer  time,  for  during  the 
winter  months  there  are  few  fogs  and  the  atmosphere  is 
bright,  balmy  and  sunny,  and  like  rare  old  wine. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
DOING    FRISCO. 

"Well,  Billy,  how  are  we  going  to  put  in  this  fine  day?" 
asked  I,  the  morning  after  our  debut  in  San  Francisco,  as  we 
stood  in  front  of  a  restaurant  in  which  we  had  just  break- 
fasted. 

"I've  been  thinking  it  over,"  replied  he,  "and  I  have  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  I  don't  want  any  more  bugs  in  mine. 
Them  fleas  were  too  much  for  me.  I  think  we  had  better 
change  our  quarters." 

"What?"  cried  I  in  amazement,  "and  lose  the  dollar  and 
a  half  rent  that  we  put  up  for  the  room?  You  ain't  crazy,  are 
you  ?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  I'm  not  going  to  sleep  in  that  bed  again 
if  I  have  to  sleep  in  the  streets.  Them  fleas,  oh!"  Here  the 
little  fellow  grimaced.  "No  more  fleas  in  mine.  That's 
positive." 

"What  will  we  do,  then?    Where  will  we  go?"  asked  I. 

"We'll  leave  our  traps  where  they  are  now  and  hunt  a 
room  further  up  town.  That  neighborhood  is  a  little  too 
tough  for  me,  anyway." 

"All  right,  Billy;  if  you're  determined  to  change,  we'll 
give  up  the  room  and  sacrifice  our  good  money.  Any  thing 


69 

to  keep  peace  in  the  family."  Billy  and  I  never  argued  mat- 
ters much  or  growled  at  each  other  long.  We  soon  got  over 
any  disagreement,  for  neither  of  us  was  ill-natured  or  un- 
reasonable, although  hasty  in  temper  sometimes. 

Accordingly,  we  strolled  up  Market  street  leisurely,  look- 
ing into  the  store  windows  and  taking  in  the  sights  by  the 
wayside.  There  were  lots  of  fine-looking  women  on  the 
streets  we  noticed,  who  seemed  to  be  of  all  nationalities. 
They  had  good  complexions,  fine  figures  and  nearly  all  of 
them  had  a  well-fed  appearance,  as  if  they  got  plenty  to  eat. 
When  they  looked  at  us  it  was  with  rather  an  impudent  air, 
which  gave  us  an  impression  that  it  would  take  a  lot  of 
money  to  satisfy  their  many  wants,  and  that  ''if  you  have 
no  money  you  needn't  come  around." 

Up  around  the  retail  stores  on  Market  street  from  Third 
to  Fourth  and  Fifth  streets  the  ladies  were  most  numerous 
— thick — and  they  interested  us  far  more  than  the  show- 
windows  did,  although  the  show-windows  were  very  enticing. 
Billy  and  I  both  were  artists — we  had  an  eye  for  the  beautiful, 
and  female  beauty  interested  us  considerably. 

Can  you  blame  us?  Some  of  these  pretty  women  were 
of  a  flirty  disposition,  as  we  could  see  by  their  manner.  We 
both  appreciated  such  things.' 

We  turned  down  Fourth  street,  passing  by  Stevenson, 
Minna,  Natoma,  Jessie,  Mission,  Howard,  Folsom  and  other 
streets  and  then,  turning  back,  returned  to  Minna  street, 
through  which  we  slowly  walked  in  search  of  a  room.  This 
street  was  not  built  up  much  as  yet,  although  before  the 
quake  it  had  been  built  up  solidly  with  dwellings,  on  both 
sides  of  the  street,  but  now,  many  lots  were  vacant. 

We  came  upon  a  dingy  frame  dwelling  on  which  there 
was  tacked  a  sign  with  "room  to  let"  on  it,  so  there  we  rang 
the  bell.  A  lady  came  to  the  door  and  asked  what  we 
wanted,  whereupon  we  told  her  that  we  were  looking  for  a 
furnished  room. 

"Step  right  in,  gentlemen,"  courteously  said  she. 


70 

We  stepped  in  and  began  negotiations  for  a  room,  "toot 
sweet,"  as  the  Frenchman  says. 

I  informed  the  landlady  that  we  had  rented  and  paid  in 
advance  for  a  room  yesterday,  but  that  we  didn't  like  it  be- 
cause it  was  too  noisy. 

"Oh,  you  won't  hear  any  noise  here,"  put  in  the  land- 
lady quickly. 

"Pardon  me,  lady,"  said  I,  "I  meant  to  cast  no  reflec- 
tions." 

The  lady  had  a  large  front  room  which  was  neatly  furn- 
ished. It  had  a  carpet  on  the  floor;  in  it  there  was  a  wash- 
stand,  dresser,  a  table  and  chairs,  besides  a  book-stand  on 
the  shelves  of  which  were  many  books.  We  could  have  this 
room  for  eight  dollars  a  month.  This  was  a  reasonable  price, 
we  thought.  x 

As  we  had  only  a  few  dollars,  however,  I  declared  that 
we  could  not  afford  to  pay  so  much  for  a  room  just  now.  As 
Billy  and  I  liked  the  room  we  told  the  landlady  that  we  would 
be  willing  to  do  this:  — 

We  would  pay  her  a  dollar  and  a  half  for  the  first  week, 
which  was  all  that  we  could  spare  at  the  present  time,  and 
after  that  we  would  pay  eight  dollars  per  month.  We  ex- 
pected to  strike  a  job  before  the  week  was  up  and  told  the 
landlady  so. 

We  saw  plainly  that  she  did  not  like  this  arrangement, 
but  after  she  had  sized  us  up  carefully,  and  seen  that  we 
were  pretty  decent  fellows,  she  said  "all  right;  I'll  let  you 
have  the  room  on  that  condition,  and  I  hope  you'll  stick  to 
your  word." 

"Have  no  fear  m'am;   we'll  do  the  right  thing  by  you!" 

The  arrangements  being  made,  we  arose,  bade  her  adieu 
for  the  present,  and  told  her  that  we  would  go  down  town  to 
get  our  things  and  be  right  back. 

We  walked  down  to  the  Barbary  Coast  once  more  where 
our  room  was  located,  secured  our  belongings  and  then  took  a 
car  at  the  foot  of  Market  street  for  our  up-town  room;  for, 
although  the  distance  from  Pacific  street  to  Minna  is  not 


71 

very  great,  yet  when  walked  several  times  it  grows  tiresome. 

We  found  our  new  room  again  after  hunting  a  little  while 
and  after  remaining  in  it  a  short  time,  concluded,  as  the  day 
was  so  fine,  that  we  had  better  be  out  sightseeing.  I  went 
out  alone  first  and  bought  some  things  for  our  lunch,  which 
we  ate  in  our  room,  before  going  out  on  our  sightseeing  tour. 
After  lunch  we  went  forth,  lit  our  pipes  and  strolled  up  Mar- 
ket street  way. 

"Where'll  we  go,  Billy?" 

"I've  heard  a  whole  lot  of  talk  about  the  Cliff  House  and 
Seal  Rocks,"  said  Billy;  "suppose  we  go  there?" 

"All  right,  my  boy,  I'm  with  you,"  responded  I  heartily. 

We  made  inquiries  and  learned  that  several  lines  of  street 
cars  would  take  us  out  to  the  "Cliff,"  by  transferring.  We 
entered  a  car  and  had  a  deuce  of  a  time  getting  there  for  the 
"Cliff"  was  a  very  long  way  off,  several  miles. 

The  distance  was  about  ten  miles,  I  believe,  yet  the  fare 
is  only  five  cents,  which  was  mighty  cheap  riding,  we  thought. 
The  ride  was  interesting,  too,  for  there  were  many  things  to 
be  seen.  The  car  rolled  swiftly  along  through  private  streets 
that  were  full  of  quaint  wooden  residences  and  through 
many  streets  that  contained  stores,  until  finally  we  were 
whisked  along  on  the  outside  of  Golden  Gate  Park,  which  is 
about  as  fine  a  park  as  one  would  wish  to  see.  Next  we  came 
to  open  country  along  which  there  were  sand  hills,  a  few 
buildings,  tree-clad  hills  and  then  an  uninhabited  stretch  of 
country.  In  due  time  we  came  by  a  life-saving  station  near 
the  ocean  beach,  but  the  car  shot  on  so  swiftly  that  we  could 
see  but  little  of  it,  which  disappointed  us.  On  we  sped  at 
the  rate  of  about  sixty  miles  an  hour  until  finally  we  stopped 
at  the  terminus  of  the  line  which  was  at  the  ocean  "oeacn. 

We  hopped  off  the  car  and  followed  the  other  passengers 
to  the  beach  where  there  is  a  long,  broad  boulevard  lined 
with  road-houses,  inns,  etc.,  from  which  one  can  contemplate 
the  melancholy  waters  of  the  mighty  Pacific  Ocean,  and  eat, 
drink  and  be  merry.  A  long  straight  road  led  up  a  hillside  to 
an  extensive  structure  which  is  called  the  Cliff  House.  The 


72 

original  Cliff  House  was  destroyed  by  fire  many  years  ago, 
and  so  were  several  others  that  were  built  afterward. 

The  present  Cliff  House  is  comparatively  new,  and  had 
only  just  been  completed.  It  was  a  building  several  stories 
in  height,  with  carriage  and  automobile  sheds  in  a  yard  at  one 
end  of  it;  banquet,  dining  and  sleeping  rooms  in  the  upper 
stories  and  on  the  ground  floor  was  a  long,  glass-covered 
pavilion  in  which  were  arranged  seats  and  tables  at  which 
one  could  sit  and  partake  of  refreshments,  if  one  chose.  Beer, 
soft  drinks,  sandwiches,  ice  cream,  etc.,  could  be  had  at  rea- 
sonable prices.  Billy  and  I  weren't  hungry  or  thirsty,  so  we 
concluded  not  to  patronize  the  bar  or  sit  down  at  the  refresh- 
ment tables,  but  we  walked  to  the  end  of  the  pavilion  where 
we  could  gaze  out  over  the  ocean  through  the  windows  and 
see  what  there  was  to  be  seen  out  that  way. 

The  Cliff  House  is  built  on  a  tall  cliff  extending  right  over 
the  water  and  a  sublime  but  rather  sad  prospect  can  be  had 
from  there.  Right  below  it  roll  and  break  the  tremendous 
billows  of  the  Pacific  with  a  never-ending  roar,  and  in  every 
direction  to  the  sky-line,  extend  the  blue  waters  of  this  vast 
sea,  upon  which  the  sunlight  nearly  always  plays.  The  water 
is  always  warm,  for  it  is  warmed  by  the  Japan  current,  and 
people  bathe  in  it  all  the  year  round.  (Billy  and  I  saw  children 
and  grown  folks  bathing  in  these  waters  that  same  winter). 

About  a  stone's  throw  from  the  shore,  but  in  very  deep 
water,  stands  a  little  island  which  is  formed  of  rocks  of  all 
sizes  and  shapes,  and  which  are  called  the  Seal  Rocks.  9 Seals 
make  it  their  playground  and  can  be  seen  on  it  at.  all  times, 
having  a  good  time  in  their  own  way.  Some  seals  are  clamb- 
ering up  the  rocks,  some  clambering  down,  some  are  laying 
off  on  the  rocks  and  snoozing,  and  others  are  talking  to  each 
other  in  their  own  language,  shoving  each  other  off  the  rocks 
into  the  ocean  in  anger  or  fun.  It  is  a  wonderful  sight  to  be- 
hold these  seals.  They  seem  so  close  by  that  one  can  almost 
hit  them  with  a  rock,  but  it  is  strictly  forbidden  by  law  to 
molest  them  in  any  way.  Maybe  they  are  aware  of  the  fact,  for 
they  seem  to  have  no  fear  of  man  and  gaze  at  him  with  indiff- 


73 

erence.  Some  of  these  creatures  are  as  large  as  a  horse,  almost, 
the  big  bulls  especially,  but  the  majority  are  smaller.  It  is 
very  interesting  to  watch  them,  and  Billy  could  not  keep  his 
eyes  off  them. 

"Well,  I'll  be  blowed!"  exclaimed  he,  when  he  first  saw 
the  sleek  creatures,  "ain't  they  ctieeky  beggars  to  come  so 
close  to  the  shore?  I'd  like  to  throw  something  at  them  to 
see  what  they'd  do." 

"You'd  be  arrested  in  an  instant  if  you  tried  anything  like 
that,"  admonished  I.  "Better  not  try  it." 

"All  right;  I  have  no  such  idea;  I  was  only  talking,"  re- 
sponded Billy. 

He  kept  staring  at  the  seals  with  ever  increasing  wonder 
and  seemed  mightily  interested  in  them.  After  he  had  been 
staring  about  an  hour,  I  said  to  him  impatiently,  "come  on, 
Billy;  we  can't  stay  here  all  day  long;  there  are  other  things 
to  see!" 

"What's  your  hurry?"  calmly  asked  Billy.  "You  never 
saw  anything  like  this  before,  did  you?" 

"No,  I  didn't,  but  I  don't  want  to  stay  here  all  day.  Come 
on,  will  you?"  pleaded  I,  coaxingly. 

I  had  a  hard  job  dragging  Billy  away  from  the  spot,  and 
he  declared  that  he  would  come  out  again  to  see  the  seals. 
To  this  I  had  no  objection. 

We  continued  our  sightseeing  tour.  We  took  in  the  Sutro 
Baths,  which  are  said  to  be  the  largest  in  the  world;  at  least 
their  advertisements  say  so.  They  are  near  the  ocean  rocks, 
are  roofed  over,  are  large  in  size  and  are  supplied  with  ocean 
water.  Broad  hallways  and  passageways,  in  which  stand 
statues,  lead  to  vast  swimming  pools,  which  are  fitted  up  with 
all  kinds  of  diving  and  swimming  apparatus. 

Not  far  from  these  baths  are  the  Sutro  Heights  which 
are  lofty  cliffs  overlooking  the  ocean,  and  which  were  owned 
and  transformed  into  a  romantic  park  by  Mr.  Adolph  Sutro, 
a  millionaire,  who  died  several  years  ago.  Along  the  sea-front, 
Sutro  Park  has  been  terraced  and  battlemented,  affording 
some  inspiring  views  of  the  ocean.  In  the  park  are  stately 


74 

avenues  containing  fountains,  walks  and  drives,  statuary, 
artistically  arranged  flower-beds,  shade  and  other  trees; 
bosky  dells,  maze-like  pathways,  grottoes,  pavilions,  chalets 
in  the  Swiss  style  (Mr.  Sutro  was  a  Swiss),  and  many  other 
pretty  things.  The  place  is  a  beauty  spot  indeed,  but  since 
the  death  of  Mr.  Sutro  it  has  not  been  kept  up  in  good  shape. 

After  whiling  away  quite  a  little  time  in  this  snug  re- 
treat, we  passed  out  and  strolled  through  a  part  of  Golden 
Gate  Park,  which  is  an  extensive  and  fine  domain,  containing 
about  1000  acres.  In  it  may  be  found  the  usual  adjuncts  of  a 
pleasure  spot  for  the  population  of  a  big  city.  There  are 
bird  and  animal  collections,  conservatories,  merry-go-rounds, 
donkeys,  a  casino,  a  Dutch  wind-mill,  rustic  seats  and  arbors, 
play-grounds  for  the  children,  baseball  and  tennis  grounds, 
statuary,  flowers,  a  music  stand,  stadium,  a  great  museum 
and  many  other  things,  but  the  place  is  so  vast  that  we  finally 
grew  tired  of  walking  through  it  and  were  glad  to  get  a  car  to 
take  us  home  again. 

We  concluded  to  round  out  a  pleasant  day  of  sight-seeing 
by  attending  a  theatre  that  evening. 

We  paid  ten  cents  each  that  evening  to  go  into  the  gallery 
(nigger  heaven)  of  a  theatre  which  was  a  large  one  devoted 
to  vaudeville.  The  performance  consisted  of  monologue  by  a 
chap  who  was  dressed  to  represent  a  colored  man;  of  an 
interesting  little  play;  an  acrobatic  act;  singing,  dancing,  and 
a  trained  dog  and  monkey  show.  It  wound  up  with  moving 
pictures.  The  singing  was  done  by  an  Australian  gentleman 
who  sang  "The  Holy  City,"  and  so  well  did  he  sing  it  that  he 
was  recalled  time  and  again,  to  which  he  good-naturally  re- 
sponded, but  finally  he  got  tired  and  made  his  farewell  bow. 
Some  people  in  the  audience  were  not  a  bit  considerate  for 
they  probably  would  be  recalling  him  yet  had  he  been  willing 
to  respond. 

You  should  have  heard  Billy  laugh  at  the  comicalties  of 
the  darky  monologuist  who  talked  with  a  table  in  front  of 
him  which  he  occasionally  whacked  with  an  umbrella.  This 
act  was  rather  a  stale  one  to  me,  but  it  was  not  so  to  Billy. 


75 

He  laughed  so  heartily  and  so  loudly  that  he  attracted  the 
attention  of  every  one  in  our  vicinity.  Evidently  negro  comi- 
calities just  suited  his  taste.  To  evince  his  pleasure  he 
stamped  his  feet,  clapped  his  hands  and  shouted,  growing 
red  in  the  face  with  his  exertion.  He  was  a  whole  show  in 
himself,  but  unconsciously  so.  After  the  moving  pictures  had 
been  displayed  we  went  home,  well  satisfied  with  our  dime's 
worth  of  amusement. 

The  next  morning  when  we  arose  we  concluded  to  put  in 
one  more  day  of  sightseeing  and  then  to  seek  work,  for  our 
money  was  giving  out  and  it  would  not  do  to  be  stranded  in 
a  large  city  like  San  Francisco.  There  is  no  fate  so  sad  as 
to  be  stranded  in  a  large  city. 

"Well,  Billy,  how  are  we  going  to  put  in  this  fine  day? 
Where'll  we  go?"  enquired  I. 

"I've  heard  a  lot  of  talk  about  Chinatown.  Suppose  we  go 
there  and  have  a  look  around?" 

"All  right,  I'm  with  you,"  responded  I,  cheerfully. 

We  enquired  our  way  and  had  no  trouble  in  finding  the 
Chinese  quarter,  although  it  is  at  some  distance  from  south 
of  Market  street  where  we  lived.  We  walked  to  Grant  avenue 
which  begins  at  Market  street  and  then  up  Grant  avenue  five 
or  six  blocks,  until  we  came  upon  the  place  we  were  looking 
for.  The  beginning  of  the  Chinese  quarter,  for  a  block  or  two, 
is  occupied  by  Japs,  who  live  and  do  business  there.  They 
own  many  fine  stores  which  are  well-stocked  with  goods. 

They  conduct  restaurants,  grocery  and  book  stores,  curio 
stores  and  many  other  kinds,  and  it  is  interesting  to  gaze  into 
their  store  windows.  Their  goods  are  peculiar  and  foreign- 
like,  and  Japanese  in  character.  A  great  many  white  people 
visit  their  emporiums,  some  impelled  by  curiosity  and  others 
with  the  intention  of  purchasing.  Not  a  few  of  these  estab- 
lishments are  very  fine. 

The  Chinese  quarter  was  a  revelation  to  us,  for  there 
are  scores  of  streets  in  it  which  are  built  up  solidly  with 
structures  occupied  solely  by  Chinese,  and  there  are  hundreds 
of  stores  of  all  kinds,  from  immense  three  and  four-story 


7G 

curio  stores  to  cobbler's  and  fruit  stands  in  the  streets  along 
side  the  buildings.  Nearly  everything  sold  is  for  Chinese  use, 
though  some  things  are  bought  by  white  folks;  such  as  gro- 
ceries, meats,  fruit,  fish,  etc.,  which  are  sold  more  cheaply 
by  the  Chinese  than  by  the  "Melican"  man.  Along  these 
queer  streets  there  are  Chinese  cigar  manufacturing  estab- 
lishments, makers  of  clothing,  hats,  boots,  shoes,  underwear, 
Chinese  sandals,  blouses,  caps,  etc.;  drug  stores,  jewelry 
stores,  barber  shops  and  book  stores  abound,  and  itinerant 
vendors  who  carry  their  wares  on  their  heads  and  cry  them 
in  strange  fashion  are  in  evidence,  too.  Gambling  joints,  fast- 
houses,  temples,  great  restaurants  several  stories  in  height, 
may  be  seen.  Over  this  whole  quarter  there  hovers  an  ori- 
ental atmosphere  that  makes  a  fellow  feel  queer. 

Billy  wanted  to  know  whether  he  was  in  America  or 
Asia.  I  told  him,  Asia,  of  course.  This  Chinatown  seemed 
like  a  pretty  good  section  of  some  large  Chinese  city,  such  as 
Hongkong  or  Shanghai.  I  believe  there  are  forty  or  fifty 
thousand  Orientals  in  San  Francisco's  Chinatown.  The  streets 
in  this  quarter  were  crammed  with  Asiatics  as  Billy  and 
I  came  upon  the  scene.  The  pig-tailed,  sandal-shod  men 
and  boys  were  thick  as  huckleberries  on  a  bush  and  occas- 
sionally  gaudily  attired  Chinese  women  and  girls  slip-shod 
by  us,  with  their  hair  done  up  in  black  folds  with  golden  pins 
stuck  through  them  and  their  lips  painted  a  light  red;  their 
garments  were  rather  gaudy. 

Billy  and  I  were  mightily  interested  in  what  we  saw 
and  visited  this  quarter  more  than  once  afterward.  It  is 
more  interesting  by  gas-light  than  in  the  day  time,  perhaps, 
for  then  the  throngs  are  greatest.  There  are  guides  who  will 
show  one  through  Chinatown  for  a  consideration,  and  take 
one  into  places  where  one  would  not  think  of  going  alone,  for 
if  one  did  he  or  she  might  rue  it. 

The  day  following,  we  both  sallied  forth  in  search  of 
work,  and  I  struck  a  job  as  helper  in  a  foundry  the  first  thing, 
but  Billy  was  not  so  fortunate.  It  was  more  than  a  week  be- 
fore he  found  a  job,  but  when  he  did  find  one  it  was  a  good 


77 

one.  He  was  installed  as  pantry-man  in  a  hotel  which  was 
conducted  by  an  Englishman,  and  as  Billy  was  English,  he  felt 
right  at  home  in  the  place.  It  was  his  duty  to  take  care  of 
the  glass,  silverware  and  chinaware,  and  his  hours  of  work 
were  from  6  A.  M.  to  8  P.  M.  with  four  hours  off  during  the 
afternoon.  His  wages  were  forty  dollars  a  month  and  board, 
and  this  Billy  considered  princely.  He  roomed  with  me  at 
our  old  shack  on  Minna  street. 

Billy  had  struck  a  home  and  the  little  cuss  was  as  happy 
and  as  cheery  as  a  fellow  could  be.  In  the  pantry  where  he 
held  forth,  the  waiters  (who  were  nearly  all  English)  brought 
him  in  the  finest  of  viands  to  eat,  such  as  chicken,  duck, 
goose,  pates,  oysters,  rich  puddings,  pies,  wines,  etc.,  and 
the  happy  little  fellow  was  living  off  the  fat  of  the  land  be- 
sides getting  good  wages.  The  waiters  brought  all  these 
good  things  in  to  Billy  and  were  sociable  enough  to  help  him 
eat  them,  for  they  were  cast  off  vituals,  that  other  people  had 
left,  and  would  have  gone  into  the  garbage  can  if  Billy  and  his 
mates  had  not  disposed  of  them.  No  eatables  were  allowed 
to  be  carried  off  the  premises,  though,  by  employes,  which 
Billy  regretted,  for  he  wanted  to  bring  me  some  of  the  good 
things  to  eat.  I  did  not  care  for  them  much,  but  I  was  glad 
to  know  that  the  little  fellow  was  getting  along  so  well  and 
that  he  was  happy  and  contented. 

My  job  was  a  pretty  hard  one,  but  I  held  it  down  in  good 
shape  and  got  good  wages.  I  had  no  kick  coming. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
BILLY  AND   I    CHAT. 

The  weather  in  San  Francisco  during  the  winter  months 
was  sunny,  balmy  and  beautiful  for  the  temperature  was  not 
much  over  or  under  60  degrees  which  is  neither  hot  nor  cold, 
but  spring-like.  During  the  summer  time  the  temperature  is 
the  same,  about  60  degrees,  but  there  is  more  or  less  fog,  and 
this  fog  is  raw,  damp,  and  penetrating.  Thus,  even  paradise 
has  its  drawbacks.  In  the  summer  time  the  ladies — or  some 
of  them — go  about  dressed  in  furs;  and  while  people  in  other 
States  swelter,  here  they  are  cool  and  many  of  them,  cold. 

Trees  and  flowers  bloomed  in  the  open  during  my  stay 
that  winter  in  Frisco,  and  oranges,  lemons  and  other  semi- 
tropical  fruits  ripened.  It  seemed  like  spring;  not  winter, 
there. 

Billy  and  I  worked  faithfully  and  steadily  at  our  jobs, 
coming  home  to  our  room  every  night  and  remaining  there 
as  a  general  thing,  but  sometimes  we  took  a  stroll  through 
Chinatown  or  elsewhere,  or  attended  a  theatre. 

One  night  in  January  while  the  rain  was  coming  down 
heavily  and  making  us  feel  that  it  never  would  let  up,  Billy 
and  I  sat  before  a  cheery  fire,  smoked  our  pipes  and  chatted. 

"Billy,"  said  I,  "you  have  told  me  so  much  about  the  old 
country  that  I've  got  into  the  notion  of  going  there.  I  have 
been  thinking  the  matter  over  a  long  time,  and  I  have  re- 
solved to  take  a  trip  across  the  ocean  next  spring." 

"The  deuce  you  say,"  answered  Billy  in  surprise;  "what 
do  you  want  to  go  over  there  for?" 

"To  do  the  Britishers;  what  else?" 

"Say,  Windy,  you're  clean  off.  You  couldn't  do  a 
Britisher — as  you  call  him — out  of  a  penny's  worth,  for  he 


79 

has  been  up  to  gum  games  for  centuries,  and  it  will  have  to 
be  a  pretty  clever  chap  who  can  induce  one  of  my  country- 
men to  hand  out  anything  to  a  cadger.  They've  seen  too 
many." 

"Couldn't  I  beat  my  way  there  the  same  as  I  can  here?" 

"No,  you  could  not,"  asserted  Billy,  emphatically.  "The 
railroad  cars  and  every  thing  else  over  there  are  different 
from  what  they  are  here.  The  people  are  different;  their 
ways  are  different;  their  dress,  speech,  methods  of  doing  busi- 
ness are  different;  their  politics  are  different " 

"Hold  on,  Billy,  I  don't  want  to  go  over  there  to  run  for 
office." 

"Who  said  you  did?  I  am  only  explaining  things  to  you. 
I  want  to  show  you  how  different  every  thing  is  done  on  the 
other  side.  The  towns  are  close  together  for  England  is  a 
small  country  compared  with  this,  and  you  couldn't  beat  a 
train  a  mile  before  you'd  be  spotted  and  arrested.  And  then 
the  railroad  cars,  they  are  altogether  different  from  what 
they  are  here.  They  are  like  stage-coaches  and  have  foot- 
boards running  along  on  both  sides  to  enable  passengers  to 
get  on  or  off.  There  are  no  brake-beams,  no  bumpers,  no 
blind-baggage,  no  rods — nothing  to  ride  on.  You  couldn't 
beat  your  way  at  all  on  such  trains. 

"Go  on  Billy;  you're  giving  me  a  fairy  tale." 

"I  am  not.  I'm  telling  you  the  truth,  the  whole,  and  noth- 
ing but  the  truth,"  earnestly  declared  Billy. 

"So  help  you,  Moses,"  put  in  I,  irreverently. 

"No  nonsense,  Windy;   I'm  serious." 

"Oh,  you  are,  are  you?  Well,  then  let's  hear  something- 
serious.  Don't  tell  me  any  fairy  tales." 

"I've  been  telling  you  the  truth,  Windy;  if  you  don't  be- 
lieve me  you  don't  have  to.  Mind  now,  what  I  am  telling 
you.  You'll  wish  you'd  never  been  born  if  you  go  to  England 
without  any  money.  What  do  you  want  to  go  over  there  for, 
anyway.  Isn't  this  country  big  enough  for  you?  If  you  want 
to  'do'  people,  I'd  advise  you  to  stay  in  your  own  country 
where  you  understand  the  people,  and  'do'  them.  England 


80 

is  small,  the  people  are  numerous,  and  the  poor  so  many 
that  you'd  want  to  make  tracks  for  home  in  a  week.  Mind 
now,  this  is  straight  talk  I'm  giving  you  and  no  lies." 

"You  have  asked  me  what  I  want  to  do  over  in  England, 
Billy,  but  I  haven't  told  you  all  there  is  in  my  mind  yet.  I 
want  to  go  over  there  for  three  purposes — to  see  the  country 
and  get  acquainted  with  the  people;  to  take  notes;  and  to 
put  my  notes  into  book  form." 

Billy  stared  at  me  fixedly  for  a  few  moments  as  a  dog 
does  a  human  being  whom  it  is  trying  to  understand  but  can- 
not,  and  then  suddenly  he  threw  himself  on  the  bed  and 
laughed  and  laughed  and  laughed,  until  I  thought  he'd  burst. 

"What's  tickling  you,  Billy?"  asked  I,  grinning,  for  his 
antics  were  funny.  "What  did  I  say  that's  funny?  Darned 
if  I  know?" 

"You-you-are-going-to-write-a- — "  here  he  had  another 
spasm  worse  than  the  other.  After  the  fit  was  over,  he  sat  up 
and  had  the  assurance  to  say,  "I've  traveled  with  you  a  long 
time,  Windy,  but  I  never  suspected  until  now  that  you're 
touched  in  the  upper  story.  I'm  surprised  at  you.  What! 
you  write  a  book?  What  do  you  know  about  book-writing?" 

"I  don't  know  much,  but  I'm  going  to  try  to  learn,"  replied 
I  calmly. 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  composition,  grammar, 
punctuating,  history,  geography,  Latin  or  Greek?" 

"Not  a  deuce  of  a  lot,  but  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  relate 
my  experiences  in  my  own  way,  and  I  am  going  to  do  it." 

"Do  you  know  what  you  are  undertaking?  How  are 
you  going  to  get  across  the  ocean  in  the  first  place?" 

"In  a  boat  of  course;  how  did  you  get  across?" 

"Do  you  intend  to  pay  your  fare  or  beat  it?" 

"Don't  know  yet  Billy;  haven't  decided.  I'll  get  across 
somehow,  leave  that  to  me.  I've  accomplished  bigger  things 
than  that  without  getting  hurt  any." 

"And,  then,  when  you  get  back  to  this  country,  and  its 
doubtful  if  you  ever  will,  who's  going  to  print  your  book  for 
you?" 


81 

"Oh,  that's  a  long  way  off.  I'll  wait  until  I  get  to  a  river 
before  I  cross  it.  What's  the  use  planning  so  far  ahead?" 

"I  suppose  you  expect  to  grow  wealthy  and  famous  after 
your  book  is  printed ?•  Will  you  give  me  one?"  Billy  was 
bantering  me  now. 

"Sure!     If  one  ain't  enough  I'll  give  you  two." 

"When  you  grow  famous  I  suppose  you'll  cut  me  the 
first  thing.  Some  people  get  the  big-head  when  they  get  up 
in  the  world,  and  there's  no  living  with  them.  Are  you  going 
to  be  like  that?" 

That  Billy  was  bantering  me  I  could  plainly  see,  so  I 
answered  him  in  the  same  strain.  "No,  Billy,  I  believe  J 
have  too  much  sense  to  act  that  way.  Why  should  the  spirit 
of  mortal  be  proud.  The  astronomers  have  photographed 
up  to  date,  over  fifty-three  million  planets,  or  stars,  every 
one  of  which  is  larger  than  this  earth  of  ours,  and  there  are 
incalculable  millions  of  planets  that  their  photographic  ap- 
paratus will  never  discover,  which  shows  what  a  small  atom 
man  is.  So  why  should  the  spirit  of  mortal  be  proud?  No, 
Billy;  I  shall  never  get  the  swelled-head,  believe  me;  no 
matter  what  happens." 

"I  expect  to  see  you  drive  a  coach-and-four  some  day, 
with  a  coachman  beside  you  on  the  box  and  a  flunky  behind; 
or  maybe  you'll  be  driving  tandem  in  a  smart  rig,  tooling 
along  in  great  shape;  maybe  you'll  have  the  latest  make  of 
automobile.  I  suppose  you'll  have  a  box  at  the  opera,  too, 
and  take  your  lady-love  to  supper  after  the  play  is  over.  Be 
lots  of  champagne  flowing  about  that  time,  eh?" 

"Oh,  let  up,  you  darned  little  Britisher,"  said  I,  laughing; 
"stranger  things  than  that  have  happened." 

"Which  bank  are  you  going  to  deposit  your  money  in?" 
asked  Billy,  with  a  huge  grin.  ^ 

"Never  you  mind,  I'll  put  it  where  you  can't  get  it.  You'll 
get  none  of  my  wealth." 

"I  thought  so.  A  rich  and  famous  man  never  has  any  use 
for  his  poor  friends  or  relatives.  Of  course  I'll  get  the  cut 
direct  as  soon  as  you  get  rich?" 


82 

"You  ain't  far  wrong  about  that,  Billy.  A  fellow's 
friends  try  to  keep  him  down,  but  when  he  is  up  they're  will- 
ing to  share  his  prosperity.  They'd  feel  hurt  if  he  wouldn't 
let  them." 

"Are  you  giving  me  a  hint?  Well,  Windy,  I  think  you 
have  planned  too  big  an  undertaking,  and  I  don't  think  you'll 
succeed.  That's  my  honest  opinion." 

"So  then,  you,  my  friend,  my  pardner,  wish  to  dis- 
courage me?" 

"Oh,  no;  but  I  think  you  are  trying  to  bite  off  more  than 
you  can  chew." 

"Am  I  the  first  fellow  to  attempt  to  write  a  book?" 

"No,  you  ain't  the  first  nor  the  last  darn  fool  who  has 
tried  it.  What  do 'you  know  about  book-writing  anyway?" 

"Well,  Billy,  I  know  very  little,  but  I  can  relate  what  I 
wan't  to  say  without  any  frills,  and  maybe  it  will  interest 
some  people.  I  shall  not  use  big  words  and  high-ke-fluked 
language  to  show  people  what  I  don't  know,  but  I  will  be 
plain  and  direct  and  put  on  no  style.  What  I  have  to  say  will 
be  told  simply.  If  people  want  to  read  fine  writing,  let  them 
take  up  the  Bible,  Shakespeare,  Milton,  Tasso,  Homer,  etc., 
for  I  ain't  in  their  class." 

"What  class  are  you  in,  Windy?" 

"In  a  class  by  myself.  I  don't  want  no  critics.  I'm  going 
to  get  up  my  book  in  my  own  way,  and  put  it  on  the  market 
in  my  own  way  too. 

"That's  right,  old  pard.  I'd  advise  you  to  steer  clear  of 
the  critics,  for  if  they  get  on  to  you,  there  won't  be  anything 
left  of  you." 

This  roused  me  like  a  trumpet.  "The  critics,"  ex- 
claimed I,  "would  not  condescend  to  fly  at  such  small  game 
as  I  am,  and  if  they^id  I'd  get  on  my  front  legs  and  kick 
around  pretty  lively.  You  remember  what  your  countryman, 
Lord  Byron  did  to  the  critics?  Why,  in  his  English  Bards 
and  Scotch  Reviewers,  he  just  pulverized  them.  To  Jeffrey 
especially  did  he  pay  his  compliments.  Had  he  stopped  at 
lambasting  the  critics  it  would  have  been  well  enough,  but 


83 

he  took  to  lampooning  and  satirizing  such  writers  as  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  Southey  and  others,  which  was  entirely  un- 
necessary on  his  part  for  they  had  not  been  hurting  him  any. 
It  was  a  display  of  poor  judgment  on  his  part  for  he  did  not 
distinguish  between  friend  and  foe.  But  he  was  young  then, 
and  erratic." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Byron  said  ill-natured  things 
about  Southey?" 

"Yes,  I  do.  There  are  Byron's  poems  on  me  rack  behind 
you.  Let  us  have  a  look  at  them." 

I  got  the  book  and  turned  to  "  English  Bards  and  Scotch 
Reviewers,"  from  which  I  read  the  following  extracts  to  Billy 
who  listened  intently: 

"A  man  must  serve  his  time  to  every  trade 
Save  censure — critics  a-re  all  ready  made. 

Take  hackneyed  jokes  from  Miller,  got  by  rote 

With  just  enough  of  learning  to  misquote; 
A  mind  well  skilled  to  find  or  forge  a  fault; 
A  turn  for  punning — call  it  attic  salt; 

To  Jeffrey  go,  be  silent  and  discreet 

His  pay  is  just  ten  sterling  pounds  per  sheet: 
Pear  not  to  lie,  'twill  seem  a  sharper  hit; 
Shrink  not  from  blasphemy  'twill  pass  for  wit — 

Care  not  for  feeling — pass  your  proper  jest, 

And  stand  a  critic,  hated,  yet  caressed." 

"Then  should  you  ask  me  why  I  venture  o'er 

The  path  which  Pope  and  Gifford  trod  before — 
If  not  yet  sickened  you  can  still  proceed:  — 
Go  on;  my  rhyme  will  tell  you  as  you  read. 

'But  hold!'  exclaims  a  friend,  here's  some  neglect, 

This,  that  and  t'other  line  seems  incorrect.' 

What  then?  the  self-same  blunder  Pope  has  got, 
And  careless  Dryden — ay  but  Pye  has  not:  — 

Indeed,  'tis  granted,  faith!  but  what  care  I? 

Better  to  err  with  Pope  than  shine  with  Pye." 


"Next  view  in  state,  proud  prancing  on  his  roan, 

The  golden-crested,  haughty  Marmion; 

Now  forging  scrolls,  now  foremost  in  the  fight, 
Not  quite  a  felon,  yet  but  half  a  knight, 


84 

The  gibbet  or  the  field  prepared  to  grace — 
A  mighty  mixture  of  the  great  and  base. 

And  thinkest  thou,  Scott!  by  vain  conceit  perchance 

On  public  taste  to  foist  thy  stale  romance, 
Though  Murray  with  his  Miller  may  combine 
To  yield  thy  muse  just  half  a  crown  per  line?'' 

******** 

"Oh  Sou  they!  Southey!  cease  thy  varied  song! 

A  bard  may  chant  too  often  and  too  long; 
The  babe  unborn  thy  dread  intent  may  rue 
God  help  thee,  Southey,  and  thy  readers,  too." 

"Now,  Billy,  you  see  how  angry  the  critics  made  Byron 
and  how  he  kept  sloshing  around  not  caring  whom  he  hit, 
friend  or  foe.  Guess  the  critics  were  sorry  they  stirred  him 
up.  He  has  made  these  critics  famous,  or  infamous,  forever. 
Don't  he  say,  Billy,  that  'a  man  must  serve  his  time  at  every 
trade  save  censure,  because  critics  are  all  ready  made?'  I 
guess  that's  no  lie,  but  I'm  going  to  try  to  coon  the  critics." 

"How?"  asked  Billy. 

"By  dealing  with  the  public  direct  and  letting  each  reader 
of  my  book  be  his  own  critic." 

Billy  stared.  He  did  not  understand  me,  nor  did  I  care 
to  enlighten  him  just  then. 

"Say,  Windy,  if  you  ain't  a  little  off,  I'll  eat  my  hat." 

"That's  what  my  friends  have  always  told  me.  They  said 
I  was  unlike  everyone  else.  When  I  was  young  I  used  to  be 
romantic,  and  would  wander  forth  to  the  country  gazing  at 
the  stars  and  vowing  to  do  great  things.  I  was  solitary  and 
lone  in  my  habits — I  did  not  care  to  mix  in  with  the  push;  I 
was  a  student;  an  idle  dreamer;  a  good-for-nothing;  caring 
naught  for  anything  but  art  and  literature,  and  not  giving  a 
darn  for  the  practical  and  every-day  affairs  of  life.  I  had  a 
hard  time  of  it,  Billy,  and  so  had  my  folks,  who  discarded  me 
as  an  incorrigible.  I  cannot  blame  them,  for  I  gave  them  a 
world  of  trouble  and  they  were  far  more  tolerant  of  me 
than  they  should  have  been.  I've  seen  lots  of  trouble,  Billy, 
but  just  the  same  I'm  going  to  write  that  book." 


85 

Billy  grinned.  "Are  you  going  to  be  one  of  them  realistic 
writers,  or  just  a  romance  writer?" 

"Realism,  Billy,  every  time.  Fact  is  stranger  than  fic- 
tion. If  it  is  related  right  it  will  prove  more  interesting  than 
fiction.  There  are  lots  and  lots  of  people  who  have  had 
more  wonderful  experiences  during  their  life-time  than  I 
have,  and  if  they  were  to  publish  them,  they  would  prove  in- 
teresting." 

"Suppose  I  try  my  hand?"  suggested  Billy. 

"Try  your  luck.    You  may  do  better  than  I  could." 

"  'Taint  in  my  line,  Windy.  I  want  something  more  to  my 
taste." 

"I've  noticed  you  have  a  weakness  for  poultry." 

"True  enough;  but  that's  better  than  poetry,  isn't  it? 
What  use  is  poetry?" 

"Of  what  use  are  any  of  the  arts?  Just  a. taste,  a  bias, 
a  little  inclination  that  is  all." 

"Have  you  got  any  genius?"  suddenly  asked  Billy  with 
a  huge  grin. 

"Not  so  as  you  can  notice  it,"  responded  I.     "Why?" 

"Well,  if  you  have  no  genius  how  can  you  write  a  book? 
It  takes  genius  to  write  a  book,  doesn't  it?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  Billy.     Pope,  the  poet,  has  said: 
'Some  books  an  even  tenor  keep 
'We  cannot  blame  indeed,  but  we  may  sleep,' 
by  which  he  means  to  imply,  I  take  it,  that  some  books  are 
written    carefully,    faultlessly    and    grammatically,    but    they 
don't  say  anything — they  put  people  to  sleep.    I'd  like  to  give 
them  an  eye-opener,  Billy,  something  to  keep  them  from  going 
off  into  the  land  of  nod." 

"How  will  you  do  it,  Windy?" 

"By  giving  them  facts  told  in  a  plain  way.j: 

After  a  pause  Billy  asked  me:  "Did  you  ever  read  the 
'Piccadilly  Puzzle'  or  'The  Mysteries  of  a  Hansom  Cab'?" 
He  kept  a  straight  face  while  asking  the  question,  although 
I  suspected  that  he  was  bantering  me. 

"No,  what  are  they;    detective  stories?" 


8G 

"Yes,  something  on  that  order.  Do  you  like  detective 
stories?" 

"You  bet  I  do,  if  they  are  the  right  kind.  I  have  read 
nearly  all  of  Allan  Pinkerton's  books,  and  not  only  did  I 
find  them  interesting,  but  instructive  as  well.  Allan  Pinker- 
ton  was  not  only  a  detective  of  towering  genius,  but  a 
great  writer.  His  writings  are  lucid  and  clear,  and  no 
one  who  ever  read  one  of  his  books  will  want  to  commit  a 
crime,  for  the  great  detective  depicted  the  penalty  so  well 
that  he  who  reads  will  think  deeply  before  attempting  it." 

"Do  they  have  Pinkerton's  books  in  the  public  libraries?" 
asked  Billy,  with  his  jaw  stuck  up  in  an  aggressive  way. 

"For  some  reason  they  do  not  have  them,  but  they  ought 
to,  for  no  better  or  wiser  books  were  ever  written.  Allan 
Pinkerton  was  as  good  a  writer  as  he  was  a  detective,  and 
that  is  saying  a  great  deal.  His  'Spy  of  the  Rebellion'  which 
treats  of  the  adventures  of  a  spy  during  the  civil  war  in  this 
country,  is  as  popular  to-day  as  when  it  first  appeared.  It  is 
read  by  multitudes  of  people  who  find  it  absorbingly  interest- 
ing. When  you  take  that  book  up  you  will  hate  to  lay  it 
down  and  you  will  not  fall  asleep  over  it.  The  language  in 
it  is  plain  and  direct  but  not  flowery,  and  the  attempt  is  made 
to  state  facts  only.  I  have  also  read  'The  Molly  Maguires 
and  Detectives,'  by  Pinkerton,  which  treats  of  an  order  of  coal 
miners  who  flourished  in  Pennsylvania  at  one  time,  and  were 
desperate  fellows." 

"Something  like  the  dynamiters  of  to-day?"  queried 
Billy. 

"Yes,"  responded  I.  "One  of  Pinkerton's  operatives,  as 
he  calls  his  detectives,  (McParland  was  the  name,  if  I  re- 
member right)  disguised  himself  and  joined  the  Molly  Ma- 
guires. He  ferreted  out  their  secrets.  He  had  a  dreadful 
time  of  it,  and  .his  experiences  as  related  by  Pinkerton  are 
worth  reading.  Then  he  wrote  'Buchholz  and  Detectives,' 
which  relates  in  a  graphic  way  how  a  young  German  chap 
who  was  not  thoroughly  bad  was  tempted  to  kill  his  rich  em- 
ployer for  money.  The  pricks  of  conscience  of  Buchholz, 


87 

his  subterfuges,  his  experiences  in  prison,  etc.,  are  told  so 
plainly  and  faithfully  by  the  great  detective  that  one  can  al- 
most feel  as  Buchholz  felt,  and  can  understand  how  one  feels 
when  one  commits  murder.  It  is  all  so  true,  so  horribly  true, 
that  it  pains  one.  Undoubtedly  the  way  of  the  transgressor 
is  hard. 

"Other  books  that  Pinkerton  has  written  are  'Strikers, 
Communists  and  Detectives';  The  Expressman  and  Detec- 
tives;' 'The  Mississippi  Outlaws  and  Detectives;'  'The  Rail- 
road Forger  and  Detectives;'  'Bank  Robbers  and  Detectives;' 
'Professional  Thieves  and  Detectives;'  'Thirty  Years  a  Detec- 
tive;' and  several  others,  nearly  all  of  which  I  have  read  and 
found  good. 

,"In  one  of  his  books  Pinkerton  made  the  following  true 
remarks: — 'Weeks  and  months  may  elapse  before  a  criminal 
is  brought  to  bay,  but  I  have  never  known  it  to  fail  that  de- 
tection will  follow  crime  as  surely  as  the  shadow  will  follow 
a  moving  body  in  the  glare  of  sunlight.'  How  does  that  strike 
you,  Billy?" 

"Just  right.  I  believe  Pinkerton  knew  what  he  was  talk- 
ing about.  He  ought  to  have  known,  anyway." 

"Pinkerton  must  have  been  a  lightning-striker,"  added 
Billy,  as  he  shook  the  ashes  from  his  pipe  into  the  stove  and 
then  began  to  load  it  up  again.  I  answered:  "Undoubtedly 
he  was;  and  he  was  a  man  of  uncommon  ability  in  his  line. 
If  boys  were  to  read  true  detective  stories  instead  of  the 
fake  ones  that  they  read,  it  would  be  much  better  for  them. 
See  what  boys  read,  will  you!  About  Diamond  Dick,  who  was 
another  Admirable  Crichton,  for  he  escaped  every  danger  by 
the  skin  of  his  teeth.  The  kids  just  dote  on  such  literature 
but  there  isn't  a  word  of  truth  in  it.  Better  not  read  at  all 
than  to  read  such  things." 

"Who  are  the  critics  and  book  reviewers  in  this  coun- 
try?" asked  Billy. 

"Why,  as  far  as  I  know,  they  are  writers  who  are  hired 
and  paid  by  newspapers,  magazines,  monthlies  and  other 
publications  to  give  their  opinion  upon  books  that  are  sent 


in  for  review  by  the  publishing  houses.  Some  of  these  critics 
are  painstaking,  careful  and  conscientious  people,  but  some 
are  not.  A  few  critics  are  writers  of  ability  but  not  of  genius, 
who  are  not  capable  of  doing  anything  great,  but  who,  never- 
theless, can  do  good  work.  As  they  have  no  genius  them- 
selves they  cannot  fathom  the  genius  of  others,  but  they  try 
to  be  fair  as  critics.  Having  been  through  the  mill,  they  can 
tell  what  good  grist  is  when  they  see  it. 

"Then  there  are  savants  and  college  professors  who 
sometimes  take  a  whack  at  reviewing,  and  a  bad  job  they 
make  of  it.  These  fellows  are  pedagogues,  pedants,  learned 
men  who  are  saturated  with  learning  to  the  skin.  They  are 
masters  in  Greek,  Latin,  geometry,  calculus,  fleebotomy, 
mathematics,  the  sciences,  and  many  other  abstruse  and.  dif- 
ficult branches  of  study.  They  are  walking  dictionaries,  en- 
cyclopedias, profound  scholars,  but  they  have  no  more  native 
wit  than  a  block  of  wood.  They  have  learned  a  great  deal 
and  can  teach  and  demonstrate  what  they  krcw 
have  no  originality — no  genius.  They  follow  but  they  cannot 
lead. 

"These  learned  chaps  sometimes  review  books  for  the 
newspapers  but  they  are  out  of  their  element.  I  read  one 
book,  Billy,  which  was  written  by  an  able  physician  who  tried 
to  demonstrate  what  genius  is.  He  wrote  all  around  the  sub- 
ject without  saying  anything,  and  plainly  showed  that  he  had 
no  genius  himself  nor  had  he  the  least  idea  what  it  is.  Among 
other  things  he  made  the  assertion  as  other  learned  men  and 
savants  have  done,  that  men  of  genius  usually  are  crazy. 
Think  of  that,  Billy!" 

"I  don't  think  the  professors  are  wrong  about  that." 

"You  think  they  are  right,  eh,  Billy? — Edison,  Pinkerton, 
Morse,  Bell,  Marconi,  Pope,  Dryden,  Shakespeare,  Spencer, 
Milton,  Dickens,  Scott,  Byron,  Burns,  Washington,  Lincoln,  and 
a  host  of  other  men  in  all  walks  of  life  have  clearly  demon- 
strated that  they  have,  or  have  had,  the  divine  spark — were 
they  crazy?" 


89 

"Oh,  the  American  writers  don't  amount  to  much," 
sneeringly  put  in  Billy.  "I  have  seen  it  stated  in  American 
papers,  that  the  American  novel  has  not  yet  been  written." 

"I  suppose  you  think  all  things  that  are  great  come  from 
h'old  h'England,  do  you?"  retorted  I  with  a  sneer.  "It  isn't 
so,  and  I  can  prove  it." 

"Fire  away,  then;  you'll  have  a  hard  job  convincing  me; 
I'll  tell  you  that  beforehand." 

"Maybe  you  don't  want  to  be  convinced?'' 
"To  be  sure  I  do,  if  you  can  convince  me." 
"I'll  try,  anyway,"  retorted  I.  "Billy,  the  American  novel 
was  written  when  the  American  Republic  was  first  born,  and 
many  a  one  has  since  been  written  that  was  never  eclipsed 
in  any  other  country.  Of  course  you  have  heard  of  John 
Jacob  Astor  who  came  to  this  country  soon  after  the  American 
Republic  was  proclaimed?  He  was  a  man  of  wonderful  busi- 
ness ability,  of  genius,  I  may  say.  Among  his  other  ventures 
he  embarked  in  the  fur  business.  He  went  into  it  on  a  large 
scale,  employed  hundreds  of  agents  and  trappers  whom  he 
sent  into  the  wilds  of  the  northwest  to  establish  permanent 
stations  and  trade  with  the'  Indians  for  furs.  He  required 
his  head  agents  at  the  various  stations  to  send  to  him  monthly 
reports,  notifying  him  of  what  was  being  done,  and  some  of 
these  reports  made  good  reading.  Some  of  the  chief  agents 
were  clever,  well-educated  men  who  could  write  as  well  as 
act.  Washington  Irving,  a  member  of  a  wealthy  Knicker- 
bocker family  in  New  York,  was  a  personal  friend  of  Mr. 
Astor,  and  Mr.  Astor  asked  Irving  if  he  would  care  to  write 
a  book  based  on  these  reports  from  the  northwest.  Mr. 
Irving  said  he  would  try.  He  took  the  reports  and  licked  them 
into  shape.  He  wrote  a  book  called  'Astoria'  which  is  by 
long  odds  the  best  book  on  the  subject  of  the  early  north- 
west that  ever  was  written,  and  so  good  is  it  that  it  has 
become  a  standard  work  in  literature.  It  is  a  narrative  in 
the  form  of  a  novel  and  evinces  genius  of  a  high  order. 
Astoria  is  only  one  of  the  American  novels.  Then  take 
Irving's  Rip  Van  Winkle,  which  grows  more  popular  as  time 


90 

rolls  on.  It  is  an  exceedingly  able  and  clever  tale  describing 
the  characteristics  and  habits  of  the  Dutch  who  settled  in 
New  York  during  the  last  century.  It  is  written  in  such  a 
clever,  refined  and  jolly  way  that  its  popularity  increases 
instead  of  diminishes.  It,  too,  is  a  classic.  This  is  another  of 
the  American  novels.  Washington  Irving's  'Life  of  Columbus' 
is  another.  It  is  a  profoundly  clever,  careful  and  pains-taking 
work.  It  will  compare  favorably  with  any  other  book  written 
on  the  same  subject.  It  shows  patient  research,  a  conscien- 
tious desire  to  state  facts  only,  and  a  coherence  of  narration 
that  renders  it  the  equal  of  any  novel  ever  written.  My  coun- 
try has  produced  a  raft  of  great  writers  besides  Washington 
Irving.  You  must  remember  that  this  country  is  not  as  old  a 
one  as  yours,  and'  that  we  have  not  dim  and  remote  history 
to  draw  upon.  We  have  not  the  Middle  Ages  with  its  castles, 
its  knights,  its  jousts,  its  tournaments,  kings,  queens,  nobles 
and  other  grand  folk,  nor  the  brilliant  doings  of  courts.  No, 
this  country  is  in  its  infancy,  and  American  writers  have  de- 
scribed faithfully,  accurately  and  well  the  life  that  they  know, 
and  a  few  of  them  have  shown  genius  of  a  high  order  in 
doing  it.  As  a  poet,  no  one  surpasses  Longfellow;  Bryant 
was  good,  and  so  was  John  G.  Saxe,  Whittier,  Lowell  and  a 
few  others,  all  of  whom  rank  high  and  their  works  are  clas- 
sics. '  Among  prose  writers  of  greater  or  less  ability,  we  have 
Howells,  Parkman  the  Historian  of  the  Northwest  (a  pains- 
taking and  able  writer),  Rex  Beach,  Jack  London,  Amelia 
Barr,  William  Barr,  Octave  Thanet,  and  a  host  of  others  too 
numerous  to  mention." 

"Did  you  ever  read  'Ramona,'  Billy?" 

"Don't  remember  that  I  did,"  replied  Billy.  "What's  it 
all  about?" 

"The  book  was  written  by  Helen  Hunt  Jackson  to  create 
sympathy  for  the  Indians." 

"Who  was  Helen  Hunt  Jackson?" 

"Search  me,  but  I  read  her  book  and  found  it  to  be  good 
reading.  This  writer  describes  Southern  California  as  it  had 
never  been  described  before,  and  her  descriptions  of  the  coun- 


91 

try  are  so  accurate,  the  flowers,  trees,  etc.,  are  so  well  de- 
scribed, the  natural  scenes  are  portrayed  so  vividly,  and  the 
characters  in  her  book  are  so  minutely  and  faithfully  drawn, 
that  the  work  is  faultless.  Over  it  there  hovers  an  air  of 
such  high  art  that  the  book  may  be  accepted  as  a  master- 
piece. It  has  had  a  good  sale  and  is  deservedly  popular.  It 
is  a  classic  of  its  kind.  " 

Ramona,  who  is  the  heroine  of  the  book,  is  a  lovable  char- 
acter. She  marries  an  Indian  of  a  noble  and  manly  kind  who 
is  oppressed  by  the  White  man,  and  whose  personality  is 
clearly  portrayed. 

Don  Philip  and  his  mother  are  also  well  drawn  as  is  every 
character  in  the  book.  All  are  realistic.  Romona.  is  one  of 
those  kind  of  books  that  were  written  for  a  purpose.  The 
gifted  authoress  endeavored  to  create  sympathy  for  the  Red 
man  but  her  sympathy  outruns  her  judgment,  if  I  may  make 
bold  to  say  so,  for  the  Red  man  needs  no  sympathy,  for  the 
following  reasons: 

All  new  countries  are  bound  to  be  settled  up  eventually 
by  civilized  men,  big  bodies  of  land  will  be  subdivided,  and 
all  "varmint"  must  go.  The -march  of  civilization  is  onward, 
ever  onward.  The  Indian  has  been  treated  fairly  by  Uncle 
Sam  who  has  given  him  vast  sums  of  money — and  is  still  do- 
ing so  annually  even  now — he  has  given  the  Indian  farming- 
implements  a"hd  taught  him  how  to  farm,  he  educates  him  in 
good  schools  free  of  charge,  and  in  every  way  does  what  he 
can  for  them.  Some  of  Uncle  Sam's  agents  turned  out  to  be 
thieves  and  rascals  which  was  deplorable.  Uncle  Sam  has 
troubles  of  his  own,  therefore,  as  well  as  the  Indian.  If  the 
Indian  does  not  wish  to  be  civilized  let  him  go  back  to  the 
woods  and  starve.  That  is  his  affair.  That  is  all  there  is 
to  the  Indian  question  that  I  can  see.  In  her  tender,  womanly 
heart,  Mrs.  Helen  Hunt  Jackson  may  be  right  about  the 
Indian,  and  I  may  be  wrong.  I  do  not  wish  to  pose  as  an 
oracle.  At  any  rate,  "Ramona"  is  the  American  novel. 

"Another  book  that  was  written  for  a  purpose  was 
Harriet  Beecher  Stowe's  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.  This  book 


92 

helped  to  abolish  negro  slavery.  The  book  is  a  classic  and  is 
the  American  novel. 

After  she  had  gained  fame,  Mrs.  Stowe  went  to  Europe 
where  she  became  acquainted  with  the  wife  of  Lord  Byron, 
who  told  her  some  scandalous  things  about  the  great  poet 
which  Mrs.  Stowe  repeated,  bringing  odium  on  the  poet.  She 
•should  not  have  done  that.  Mrs.  Stowe's  family  was  not  so 
immaculate  itself,  and  people  who  live  in  glass  houses  should 
not  throw  stones. 

"You  remember  the  celebrated  Henry  Ward  Beecher  case 
in  Brooklyn,  do  you  not,  Billy?" 

"To  be  sure  I  do,"  responded  Billy. 

"Well,  Henry  Ward  Beecher  was  a  brother  of  Harriet 
Beecher  Stowe  and  a  man  of  great  genius  himself.  It  does 
not  pay,  Billy,  to  repeat  scandalous  or  slanderous  stories. 
What  do  you  think?" 

"Of  course  it  doesn't.  I  liked  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  very 
well.  When  I  read  of  the  death  of  little  Eva  it  made  me  cry 
and  I  felt  sorry  for  poor  Uncle  Tom.  I  would  like  to  have 
booted  that  devil,  Simon  Legree.  But,  it  is  getting  pretty 
late,  Windy,  hadn't  we  better  turn  in?" 

"What  time  is  it?"  asked  I. 

"Quarter  to  twelve,"  responded  Billy. 

"As  late  as  that?"  asked  I  in  surprise;  "well,  I  guess  we 
had  better  go  to  bed  then. 

We  both  turned  in  and  soon  were  asleep.  Many  another 
conversation  did  we  have  during  the  long  winter  nights  on 
many  topics,  but  it  was  mostly  about  my  contemplated  trip 
abroad  that  we  spoke  of.  Billy  did  not  want  to  talk  about 
the  book  I  intended  to  write,  but  I  could  not  help  talking 
about  it,  for  I  dreamed  about  it,  sleeping  or  waking.  Billy 
bantered  me  every  time  I  mentioned  the  subject  but  that 
only  made  me  grin.  I  took  his  sarcasms  goodnaturedly. 

Deep  down  in  his  heart  I  knew  there  was  a  feeling  that 
Billy  did  not  like  me  to  leave  him,  and  I  felt  that  it  would  be 
an  awful  wrench  for  me  to  part  from  him,  for  we  had  a 
sneaking  regard  for  each  other.  He  was  the  steadiest,  true- 


93 

heartedest  little  friend  I  had  ever  had,  but  I  could  not  afford 
to  sacrifice  my  ambition  for  him.  I  had  marked  out  a  line 
of  conduct  for  myself  which  I  proposed  to  follow,  and  nothing 
and  no  one  could  divert  me  from  it.  It  was  to  be  success  or 
failure  with  me,  and  no  one  can  gain  success  if  he  does  not 
try  for  it.  To  gain  success  (or  failure)  one  must  sometimes 
leave  father  and  mother,  sister  and  brother,  relatives, 
sweetheart  and  friend,  for  in  this  world  a  time  will  come 
anyway  when  we  must  part.  That  is  the  way  I  looked  at  it. 
To  part  from  Billy,  though,  was  going  to  be  a  hard  wrench, 
and  I  looked  forward  to  it  with  sorrow,  but  the  anticipation 
was  worse  than  the  reality.  Billy  tried  his  best  to  persuade 
me  from  going  on  a  wild  goose  chase,  as  he  called  it,  and 
finally,  one  evening,  when  he  saw  his  arguments  were  of  no 
avail,  he  became  huffy  about  it  and  told  me  that  I  might  go 
to  the  devil  if  I  wished  for  all  he  cared.  He  had  no  strings 
on  me,  he  assured  me,  and  did  not  give  a  rap  what  became  of 
me. 

He  hoped  I'd  get  drowned  crossing  the  ocean,  and  if  not 
that,  then  he  hoped  I'd  get  arrested  as  soon  as  I  set  foot  on 
British  soil.  A  dose  of  British  jail  might  do  me  good,  he  de- 
clared, and  might  take  the  conceit  out  of  me,  if  such  a  thing 
were  possible.  He  wished  he  could  be  present  when  I  tried 
to  "do"  a  Britisher,  just  to  see  what  would  happen.  I'd 
learn  something  I  never  knew  before,  he  assured  me.  The 
little  cuss  was  worked  up,  but  I  only  grinned,  which  got  him 
more  angry  still. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 
BEATING   IT  OVERLAND 

It  was  the  month  of  March  which  I  had  set  for  my  de- 
parture— the  latter  part  of  it — for  when  the  spring  opens  up 
in  the  East,  the  weather  warms  up  a  bit  and  traveling  is  not 
so  much  of  a  hardship.  Of  course,  I  did  not  intend  to  pay 
any  railroad  fares  across  the  continent,  as  I  intended  to  beat 
it,  for  what  is  tbe  use  helping  to  fill  the  railroad  coffers  if 
you  don't  have  to?  I  had  easily  earned  enough  money  to  pay 
my  way,  but  I  spent  what  I  earned  as  fast  as  I  made  it  for 
as  I  told  Billy  more  than  once  when  we  were  talking  matters 
over,  if  you  beat  your  way  with  money  in  your  pocket  and 
some  'boes  find  out  that  you  have  money,  it  is  more  than 
likely  that  you  will  be  held  up  or  murdered  outright  for  it. 
Some  'boes  stop  at  nothing — not  even  murder — to  gain  their 
ends.  Many  a  horrible  crime  has  been  committed  and  little 
or  nothing  has  been  said  about  it,  for  who  is  going  to  bother 
much  over  a  hobo  who  has  died  suddenly?  Such  a  chap  has 
no  friends  to  make  a  hue  or  cry  for  him,  so  why  put  the 
community  to  any  great  trouble  or  expense  for  him? 

The  fateful  day  of  departure  drew  nigh.  I  threw  up  my 
job,  drew  my  pay  and  got  ready  for  the  journey.  I  did  not 
need  a  Saratoga  trunk,  rugs,  shawls,  a  French  poodle,  a  green 
parrot  in  a  cage,  or  other  such  appurtenances,  but  I  did  buy  a 
pair  of  new  blankets,  for  I  had  burned  mine. 

When  Billy  and  I  took  up  our  abode  on  Minna  Street  and 
brought  our  blankets  there,  after  giving  a  glance  at  them 
our  landlady  suggested  that  we  take  them  out  in  the  back 
yard  and  burn  them.  We  would  not  need  them  in  San  Fran- 
cisco she  said.  Maybe  she  thought  the  blankets  were  inhab- 
ited, but  they  were  not.  Billy  and  I  did  as  we  were  requested. 


95 

for  the  blankets  were  pretty  old  anyway  and  had  seen  their 
day. 

That  was  all  the  outfit  I  needed  for  the  trip — a  pair  of 
new  blankets.  I  had  a  few  dollars  in  my  pocket  and  if  any- 
thing else  were  needed  I  could  buy  it  along  the  route. 

The  morn  arrived,  and  I  had  to  bid  Billy  good-bye.  I 
might  as  well  say  the  truth — that  I  felt  more  like  crying  than 
laughing— but  I  joked  and  bantered  Billy  and  got  him  laugh- 
ing and  saucy  as  well. 

"Why  don't  you  swim  across  the  little  duck-pond, 
Windy?"  sarcastically  suggested  Billy. 

"Because  I  don't  know  how  to  swim." 

"Oh,  you'll  get  drowned,  sure,"  said  Billy. 

"Might  as  well  be  drowned  as  hanged.  What's  the  dif, 
anyway?" 

"You'll  never  earn  enough  to  get  out  of  the  old  country," 
Billy  assured  me. 

"Might  as  well  be  found  dead  there  as  anywhere  else.  I 
can  live  and  die  there.  As  far  as  getting  out  of  the  old 
country,  though,  I  think  you  can  safely  leave  that  to  me.  I 
can  work  my  passage  home  or  stow  away.  I'm  an  old  timer, 
I  am,  and  it's  pretty  hard  to  coon  me.  You  hear  me?"  said 
I  jokingly,  but  with  a  sob  in  my  heart. 

"Oh,  yes  I  hear  you,"  retorted  Billy  with  a  sneer.  "You're 
a  know-all  you  are.  Pity  your  mother  had  no  more  like  you." 

"Time  to  go,  Billy.     Guess  I'll  have  to  leave  you." 

"So,  you're  bent  on  going  then,  you  gol  darned  old  stiff. 
Go  then,  whose  a-holding  of  you?  Don't  take  in  any  bad 
money  while  you're  gone." 

"All  right,  Billy.     I'll  obey  orders.     Good-bye!" 

We  shook  hands,  parted,  and  I  left  the  house.  I  felt 
glum  and  do  believe  I  dropped  a  tear  somewhere,  but  what 
was  the  use  of  repining?  The  best  of  friends  must  part 
sometime.  It  is  only  a  question  of  time. 

I  paid  ferriage  across  to  Oakland  and  took  a  street  car 
from  there  to  Point  Richmond.  At  the  latter  town  I  jumped 
a  freight  to  Sacramento  and  had  no  trouble  at  all  in  getting 


9G 

to  Sac.  It  was  my  intention  to  travel  to  New  York  via  the 
central  route,  that  is,  by  way  of  Reno,  Ogden,  Omaha,  Chi- 
cago, Niagara  Falls  and  Buffalo  for  I  had  been  over  this 
route  before  and  knew  it  pretty  well.  It  is  a  three-thousand- 
mile  journey  and  a  long  one,  but  there  are  lots  of  things  to 
see  along  the  route. 

How  glorious  is  the  spring  time!  How  it  stirs  the  blood, 
thrills  one,  awakens  ambition,  puts  new  life  into  everything, 
charms  and  enthuses  one!  Shakespeare  has  said  that  in  the 
spring  time  one's  thoughts  lightly  turn  to  love;  another  poet 
said,  "Young  man,  thy  blood  is  rosy  red,  thy  heart  is  soft," 
and  I  guess  he  knew  what  he  was  talking  about,  too.  My 
heart  was  bubbling  o'er  with  anticipation,  hope  and  enthusi- 
asm. I  had  set  out  for  a  high  purpose  and  I  was  going  to  ac- 
complish that  purpose.  What  love  I  had,  though,  was  only 
for  poor  little  Billy  whom  I  had  left  behind  me,  and  whose 
company  I  missed  sadly  for  awhile,  especially  at  night,  as 
I  traveled  all  alone.  The  lone  and  dreary  watches  of  the 
night  seemed  awful.  Then  I  missed  Billy  most  and  then  I 
remembered  what  a  pleasant  and  lively  companion  he  was. 
During  the  day-time  though,  the  many  new  sights  I  saw  kept 
me  eager,  alert  and  interested. 

At  Newcastle  in  the  foothills  of  the  Sierras,  the  fruit- 
belt,  a  number  of  refrigerator  cars  were  attached  to  my 
train,  and  had  I  crawled  into  one  of  them  I  could  have  made 
the  journey  to  the  eastern  coast  in  ten  days  or  less,  for  these 
cars  are  filled  with  perishable  stuff  and  are  rushed  right 
through.  Many  a  'bo  beats  his  way  across  the  continent  in 
these  cars  and  thinks  nothing  of  it,  but  I  didn't  like  that  way 
of  traveling.  The  refrigerator  cars  are  boxed  in  and  sealed 
when  loaded,  the  only  light  or  air  penetrating  through  them 
coming  through  a  little  sliding  door  that  opens  at  the  roof. 
The  car  is  dark  as  a  pocket  or  as  dark  as  a  cell  in  a  prison, 
which  surely  is  gloomy  enough.  Ice  is  put  into  a  compart- 
ment of  the  car  to  keeip  the  air  cool  and  sweet,  and  as  the 
whole  interior  is  pretty  well  filled  up  there  is  barely  room  to 
turn  around  in.  There  are  no  facilities  for  washing,  cooking, 


97 

or  performing  the  other  essentials  of  nature,  so  I  concluded 
that  taking  everything  into  consideration  I  did  not  want  to 
travel  in  one  of  these  cars. 

I  crawled  into  a  loaded  freight  car  through  an  upper  win- 
dow which  I  espied  at  one  end  of  the  car,  and  which  had  not 
been  secured.  The  window  was  grated  and  should  have  been 
locked,  but  I  found  it  unlocked.  The  car  was  loaded  to  the 
ceiling,  almost,  with  boxes,  barrels  and  crates  of  merchandise 
of  various  kinds  leaving  little  room  for  me,  but  1  lay  flat  most 
of  the  time  upon  some  boxes  that  were  piled  high,  and 
stretched  my  limbs  in  any  way  that  I  could  when  I  grew  tired. 
It  was  mighty  lonely  riding,  for  I  could  not  see  much  of  the 
scenery,  though  I  could  see  a  little. 

Through  the  interminable  snow  sheds  the  train  rumbled 
and  I  thought  we  never  would  get  through  them,  and  kept  a 
cursing  them  heartily.  They  are  useful  rather  than  ornamen- 
tal, so  I  put  up  with  the  inconvenience  as  best  I  could.  Any- 
way I  had  no  kick  coming,  for  I  was  getting  the  best  of  the 
railroad  by  many  a  dollar,  thought  I. 

This  S.  P.  R.  R.  permits  'boes  to  ride  over  the  Sierra 
Nevada  Mountains  free,  for  these  mountains  are  uninhabited 
and  are  wild  and  lonely.  The  'boes  know  that  they  can  ride 
free — at  least  many  of  them  know  it — and  get  over  this  part 
of  the  road  without  any  trouble. 

For  some  reason  or  other  my  train  made  long  stops  in  the 
snowsheds,  which  was  inconvenient  and  tedious,  but  there  are 
drawbacks  in  all  lines  of  trade,  so  what  is  the  use  of  com- 
plaining? Had  I  taken  the  Overland  Limited  and  paid  about 
$150  or  so,  I  might  have  reached  New  York  in  about  three 
shakes  of  a  lamb's  tail,  but  I  was  getting  along  fast  enough 
for  the  price.  I  had  no  legitimate  kick  coming. 

It  was  a  long,  slow  and  tedious  ride  to  Reno  but  1  was 
gently  deposited  in  that  town  at  about  ten  o'clock  one  fine 
spring  morning. 

Reno  is  a  neat,  progressive,  pretty  little  city  of  about 
10,000  people.  It  is  situated  on  the  plains  surrounded  by  bare 
and  lonely  mountains  and  through  it  flows  the  Truckee  River, 


98 

a  mountain  stream  not  much  wider  than  a  brook.  It  is  a 
swift-flowing  stream  that  comes  from  the  Sierra  Nevada 
Mountains  and  flows  on  for  several  hundred  miles  down 
through  the  plains  or  prairies,  of  the  huge  state  of  Nevada. 

Some  of  the  residential  streets  in  Reno  are  neat,  well- 
shaded  and  pretty,  and  contain  some  fine  residences.  In  the 
business  portion  there  are  quite  a  number  of  stores.  At  one 
time  Reno  did  a  great  business,  for  it  was  the  distributing 
point  for  a  considerable  section  of  country  and  had  (and  may 
still  have)  three  lines  of  railroad:  the  Southern  Pacific, 
Virginia  &  Truckee,  and  the  Nevada,  California  &  Oregon, 
but  so  many  large  towns  have  sprung  up  near  Reno  that  the 
trade  has  been  divided.  Hazen  has  sprung  up  nearby  and  so 
has  Sparks,  Goldfield,  Tonop-ah,  Rhyolite  and  others,  which 
have  become  important  places  and  do  not  have  to  draw  upon 
Reno  for  supplies.  Reno  still  is  a  great  cattle  shipping  cen- 
ter, however,  and  contains  quite  a  number  of  manufacturing 
establishments  and  ore-treating  plants.  Its  divorce  industry, 
too,  is  quite  extensive,  but  latterly  the  Renoites  have  become 
real  good,  and  have  changed  their  divorce  laws  somewhat, 
have  abolished  gambling  and  are  running  things  in  quite  a 
Sunday  school  fashion.  It  used  to  be  awfully  wild  and  woolly. 

At  one  time  Reno  was  wide  open  and  as  the  law  put  no 
restrictions  on  gambling,  the  gambling  places  did  a  great 
business.  The  floors  of  the  gambling  palaces  were  marble, 
the  bars  were  costly  ami  fitted  up  with  the  finest  of  glass- 
ware. The  best  of  wines  and  liquors  could  be  had  there  and 
the  lunch  counters  were  supplied  with  the  best  the  market 
afforded.  The  food  was  cooked  by  high-priced  chefs,  but  sold 
at  reasonable  prices.  The  gambling  layouts  were  in  a  large 
apartment  entered  from  the  street,  and  consisted  of  roulette 
wheels,  card  tables  and  other  paraphernalia.  Business  was 
done  day  and  night.  At  night  these  joints  were  so  crowded 
that  it  was  difficult  to  move  about  in  them  or  to  get  near  the 
gaming  tables.  There  were  some  pretty  tough  mugs  there 
and  scraps  were  frequent,  but  if  an  individual  got  too  obstrep- 


99 

erous,  he  was  quickly  seized  and  run  into  jail  by  the  Reno 
officers,  who  were  alert  and  fearless. 

It  was  interesting  to  watch  the  players.  The  main  games 
played  were  roulette,  stud-horse  poker,  craps,  faro  or  keuo, 
all  of  which,  except  poker,  were  played  with  a  wheel.  Craps 
was  a  huge  favorite  and  was  played  with  dice,  the  individual 
player  being  permitted  to  throw  the  dice.  The  players  were 
mightily  absorbed  in  the  turns  of  the  wheel  and  would  watch 
•  them  with  their  hearts  in  their  mouths.  Colored  chaps  espec- 
ially were  lively  gamblers,  and  with  blazing  eyes  and  excited 
gestures,  while  playing,  they  would  make  remarks  like  this, 
as  the  wheel  whirled  rapidly:  "What  you  doin'  dar?"  "Roll 
right  for  me  dis  time";  "Why  don't  you  roll  right  for  me,  you 
blankety,  blank,  blank"  (cuss  words).  They  never  looked  up 
at  anyone  while  playing,  for  they  were  too  deeply  absorbed 
in  the  game.  They  kept  up  a  running  fire  of  comment.  Others 
took  the  matter  more  cooly,  and  won  or  lost  in  an  impertur- 
able  manner. 

I  suppose  these  gambling  palaces  are  no  longer  there,  but 
I  don't  know  whether  they  are  or  not.  Things  change  sud- 
denly out  West,  sometimes. 

When  I  landed  in  Reno  this  fine  spring  morning  I  was 
travel-stained  and  weary,  so  the  first  place  I  made  for  as  soon 
as  the  train  stopped,  was  the  hobo  camp  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  town,  where  Billy  and  I  had  stopped  last  fall,  while  on 
our  way  to  California.  This  camp  was  on  the  banks  of  the 
Truckee  under  a  wagon  bridge,  and  there  was  nothing  there 
to  attract  a  tenderfoot  or  a  passerby's  attention,  except  a  heap 
of  stones  that  were  used  as  a  fireplace.  A  few  empty  cans 
were  strewn  about,  which  posted  the  initiated  ones. 

There  wasn't  a  soul  in  camp  when  I  arrived  there  that 
morning,  except  one  lone,  Wandering  Willie,  who  greeted  me 
as  effusively  as  if  I  were  a  long-lost  brother.  Hoboes  have  a 
faculty  of  distinguishing  brother  knights  at  a  glance. 

"Well,  may  I  be  damned!;  where  did  you  drop  from, 
pardner?"  was  the  hearty  greeting  I  received. 


100 

"Who,  me?"  responded  I;  "Oh,  I  just  drifted  in  from  Cal- 
ifornia. I  am  after  a  clean-up." 

"You  just  blowed  in  from  California,  hay!  How's  things 
out  that  way?  I'm  headed  for  California." 

"The  deuce  you  say!  Oh,  things  are  fine  and  dandy  out 
there.  Where  you  from?" 

"Me?     Oh,   I'm   from   Bloomington,   Illinoi'.     Was   pretty 
chilly  there  last  winter,  so  I  fought  I'd  go  somewhere  where  t 
I  kin  keep  warm.    Been  to  Frisco?" 

"I  left  Frisco  three  days  ago;  it's  a  pretty  swell  town. 
You'll  find  it  O.  K,  I  think." 

Here  we  had^an  extended  conversation  which  I  need  not 
repeat,  for  it  would  serve  no  useful  purpose.  This  Illinois  chap 
looked  as  if  he  had  been  having  a  hard  time  of  it.  He  was  a 
young  man  less  than  twenty-one  years  of  age,  but  he  had 
probably  been  on  the  pike  a  long  time,  for  he  looked  seedy  and 
hardened.  His  features  were  pinched  and  drawn,  his  frame 
bony,  there  was  a  hole  in  the  crown  of  his  derby  hat,  as  if 
some  one  had  thrown  a  brick  through  it,  and  the  poor  fellow's 
coat  was  in  tatters;  his  shoes  were  in  the  last  stages  of  wear, 
and  his  trousers  were  "high  water"  ones  and  patched  in  the 
seat.  He  surely  was  a  woe-begone  looking  object,  and  needed 
a  new  outfit. 

He  had  just  taken  a  bath  and  was  now  intent  on  going 
to  town,  so  I  did  not  hold  him  up  long.  After  he  left  me  I 
shed  my  clothes,  and  plunged  into  the  cold,  clear  water  of  the 
Truckee,  and  had  a  delightful  swim,  after  which  I  had  a  good 
rub-down.  Oh,  how  delicious  it  was  and  how  it  did  make 
me  glow!  It  took  all  the  dirt  and  languor  out  of  me  and  made 
me  feel  like  a  new  man.  It  brightened  my  eyes,  sharpened 
my  appetite  and  made  me  feel  as  full  of  ginger  as  a  fighting 
cock.  It  wasn't  long  before  I  made  tracks  for  Reno  where  I 
sat  down  to  a  substantial  meal  in  a  restaurant.  A  big  bowl 
of  soup,  a  pile  of  bread,  plenty  of  meat,  gravy  and  vegetables; 
half  a  pie,  doughnuts,  and  a  cup  of  coffee  disappeared  about 
as  quick  as  I  can  tell  it. 


101 

I  remained  in  Reno  a  day  or  two,  and  put  in  a  good  deal 
of  time  at  the  corrals  near  the  hobo  camp,  where  cattle  were 
loaded  and  unloaded.  It  was  fun  to  watch  the  cattle.  A  car, 
if  it  was  to  be  loaded  or  unloaded,  was  run  along  side  an 
inclined  chute  which  led  into  a  corral,  :ddv?n  'which  the  .t'atite 
were  prodded  when  they  wrere  being  unload'eci*,  and  prodde'd  up 
when  they  were  to  be  loaded.  The  prodcftng  w&$  ;d»n«,' by ;mea 
with  long  poles  and  some  of  the  poles  'were  spiked  wiiiih'  ma'de3 
them  more  efficient.  If  a  brute  grew  refractory,  he  or  she 
suffered  for  it.  Tail-twisting  was  resorted  to  in  some  cases 
and  bad  language  was  used  besides  the  prodding,  so  that  the 
performance  was  as  good  as  a  circus  to  witness,  with  no  ad- 
mission price  to  pay.  It  interested  me  mightily,  for  I  like  to 
see  such  things. 

I  was  put  wise  to  the  fact  that  a  passenger  train  leaves 
Reno  every  evening  at  about  eight  o'clock,  for  the  East,  and 
that  she  is  a  good  train  to  beat  if  one  can  make  her.  She  is 
no  slouch  but  gets  a  move  on  herself  and  goes  a-humming 
when  once  she  gets  started.  I  thought  I'd  try  her.  According 
to  advice  and  directions,  I  let  her  get  a  good  move  on  that  eve, 
and  jumped  her  as  she  was  pulling  out  of  the  yard.  It  was 
getting  dark  at  the  time,  but  I  swung  on  without  mishap,  for 
I  knew  how.  No  sooner  had  I  swung  on,  though,  than  I  found 
that  the  blind  baggage  was  full  of  people.  I  wanted  to  swing 
off  again  but  hesitated,  and  they  say  that  a  man  who  hesitates 
is  lost,  but  that  isn't  always  true.  The  people  on  the  platform 
gazed  in  affright  at  me  and  I  gazed  in  affright  at  them.  They 
probably  took  me  for  a  bull  and  I  thought  they  were  railroad 
men.  I  hung  on  and  stared,  but  as  no  one  said  anything  to  me 
I  drew  a  breath  of  relief  and  crowded  up  onto  the  platform. 
The  other  fellows  then  began  to  surmise  that  I  was  a  dead- 
head like  themselves.  "Where  you  going,  mister?"  a  foreign 
voice  asked  me  in  a  whisper.  "New  York,"  answered  I.  Noth- 
ing more  was  said  to  me,  but  my  fellow  dead-heads  began  to 
whisper  among  themselves.  Maybe  they  had  dropped  some- 
thing into  brakey's  palm  and  had  been  allowed  to  ride.  Such 
things  are  done.  There  were  just  six  of  them  and  they  were 


102 

Greasers,  every  one  of  them,  and  cow-punchers  at  that,  I 
surmised.  They  gave  me  black  looks  and  made  me  feel  that 
I  was  unwelcome.  The  platform  of  a  blind  baggage  is  not  very 
roomy  and  we"  were  packed  as  closely  as  sardines. 

'•It's  more  bottev  you  jump  off,  what?"  hissed  one  fellow 
in  my  ear,   "it\;  :o^  much  crowded  here;   see?" 


.      This  \.-.s  a  tlv,  er.t  and  got  me  huffy. 
!;ai,  jun:ir-  oft   \vhiie  the  train  is  £ 


going  sixty  miles  an 
hour,"  exclaimed  I;  "what  do  you  take  me  for  a  crazy  man? 
I'd  get  killed." 

No  more  was  said  to  me  just  then,  but  I  was  apprehensive 
and  feared  trouble.  What  could  I  do  against  six  husky  cow- 
punchers? 

The  night  was  a  fine  star-lit  one,  the  train  rattled  on  at 
a  tremendous  pace  and  created  a  cyclone  that  swept  through 
our  whiskers  and  every  other  part  of  our  anatomy.  It  got 
to  us  in  great  shape  and  numbed  us. 

The  teeth  of  the  Greasers  began  to  chatter  and  they  hud- 
dled together  for  warmth,  but  little  warmth  did  they  get. 
The  cold  was  distressing  them  horribly.  These  low  caste 
Mexicans  can  stand  heat  to  any  temperature,  almost,  but  when 
it  comes  to  cold,  a  little  of  it  will  make  them  feel  like  hunt- 
ing their  holes  in  a  hurry.  They  couldn't  run  for  their  holes 
now  though,  and  they  had  to  grin  and  bear  the  cold  as  best 
they  could.  I  could  not  help  grinning  at  the  way  their  teeth 
chattered.  They  were  chattering  at  about  the  same  rate  as 
the  train,  about  sixty  miles  an  hour.  Whosh!  wasn't  the 
train  a-going  it,  though!  How  she  clattered  through  the 
night!  Gee- whiz;  how  frightfully  breezy  it  was!  We  put  in 
about  two  hours  of  this  sort  of  misery,  and  I  was  planning 
what  to  do  while  shivering.  Bye-and-bye  our  train  began  to 
slack  up  a  little  and  then  we  knew  that  she  was  going  to  stop 
at  some  town  for  she  blew  her  whistle,  too. 

When  the  train  began  to  slacken  speed,  a  pair  of  hands 
suddenly  grabbed  me  by  the  throat  so  that  I  could  make  no 
outcry,  and  another  ipair  of  hands  pulled  off  my  coat,  which 
was  hurled  from  the  train. 


103 

"You  see  dat?"  hissed  a  voice;  "you  jump  off  now  or  we 
trow  you  off!  Hurry!  Fi-fi!  Queek!" 

I  sabee'd  all  right  and  swung  off  as  gracefully  as  I  could 
but  I  landed  in  a  ditch.  I  wasn't  hurt  any.  I  arose  and 
walked  westward  along  the  track  in  search  of  my  coat  which 
was  an  article  of  wear  I  could  not  dispense  with.  I  walked 
back  fully  a  mile  before  I  found  the  garment  and  then  after 
shaking  it  I  put  it  on  and  walked  eastward.  How  I  cursed 
those  Mexicans  for  firing  me  off  the  train!  It  was  a  mean 
trick.  I  had  not  been  hurting  them  nor  molesting  them  in 
any  way,  so  why  should  they  have  used  me  in  such  a  cruel, 
heartless  manner?  Had  I  broken  my  neck  when  they  fired 
me  off,  they  would  not  have  cared,  the  cold-blooded  wretches! 

Here  was  I  now,  two  or  three  miles  from  the  railroad 
depot,  in  a  wild  country,  far  from  any  person  or  habitation, 
with  nothing  around  except  the  stillness  and  the  darkness  of 
the  night.  This  was  no  joke.  I  felt  kind  of  funny-like,  for  I 
could  hear  coyotes  barking  not  for  away  on  the  plains,  and 
owls  hooting.  It  was  an  eerie  situation. 

As  I  walked  along  the  railroad  track  I  could  hear  noises 
in  the  bushes  at  either  side'  of  me,  close  by,  which  startled  me 
somewhat,  but  I  concluded  the  noise  was  made  by  birds  of 
some  sort  that  were  frightened  because  of  my  presence.  The 
stars  overhead  shone  gloriously  and  it  was  far  pieasanter 
walking  than  riding,  for  the  exercise  of  walking  kept  me 
warm.  "Let  the  Greasers  ride  and  perish  with  the  cold," 
thinks  I. 

It  must  have  been  nearly  eleven  o'clock  when  I  reached 
a  depot  which  had  the  name  Wordsworth  on  it.  Wordsworth 
at  one  time  had  been  a  railroad  division  point,  having  a  round- 
house, railroad  shops  and  other  railroad  manufacturing  plants 
in  it.  It  had  quite  a  population  and  was  a  pretty  lively  little 
burg  but  for  some  reason  best  known  to  the  railroad  com- 
pany, they  transferred  the  division  point  to  Sparks,  a  suburb 
of  Reno,  further  west,  so  that  to-day  Wordsworth  is  a  deserted 
village  and  looks  mighty  dead.  There  is  little  or  nothing- 
there. 


104 

When  I  reached  Wordsworth  that  night  there  was  not  a 
light  to  be  seen  in  the  place,  and  even  the  depot  was  black 
with  gloom.  Where  to  go  or  what  to  do,  I  did  not  know.  I 
never  felt  more  lonesome  in  my  life.  I  heard  a  pump  throb- 
bing in  the  gloom  some  distance  off  east  of  the  depot,  so  I 
cautiously  walked  up  that  way  to  reconnoitre.  As  T  supposed, 
it  was  a  railroad  pump-house,  there  for  the  purpose  of  pump- 
ing water  into  the  water  tank  for  locomotives. 

A  man  was  in  charge  of  the  plant.  I  went  up  to  the  door- 
way of  the  pump-house,  peeped  in,  and  found  everything 
mighty  snug  and  warm  there.  I  asked  the  poor  slave  in  charge 
if  I  might  step  inside  and  warm  myself.  He  said  yes.  He 
was  not  averse,  evidently,  to  having  company,  even  that  of  a 
'bo,  for  his  vigil  is  a  dreary  and  lonely  one  it  seemed  to  me. 
He  puts  in  his  time  attending  to  the  fires  and  keeping  the  ma- 
chinery in  operation.  This  is  a  nice  job,  but  it  grows  mighty 
lonesome,  for  there  is  no  one  to  talk  to  night  after  night.  I 
don't  think  I'd  want  the  job  at  any  price. 

The  pump-man  in  answer  to  my  inquiry  informed  me 
that  a  freight  train  would  be  along  some  time  during  the 
night,  but  just  when  he  could  not  say,  for  it  was  rarely  on 
time.  He  told  me  to  take  a  snooze  and  that  he  would  wake 
me  up.  He  was  very  kind  and  I  did  as  he  suggested. 

Several  hours  later  I  heard  a  rumbling  in  the  distance, 
and  bye  and  bye  an  engine  whistled  for  the  station.  I  be- 
came wide  awake  in  an  instant.  It  was  an  east-bound  freight 
coming  along.  When  she  stopped  to  water  I  walked  along 
the  train  to  seek  out  some  likely  spot  for  riding.  The  best 
thing  I  could  see  was  a  long  box-car  with  low  rods  under- 
neath it,  but  plenty  of  them.  "I  guess  it'll  have  to  be  the 
rods  this  time,"  thinks  I  to  myself. 

The  rods  underneath  some  freight  cars  are  thin,  but 
many,  and  are  underneath  the  body  of  the  car  but  a  few 
inches  apart,  making  an  ideal  berth.  These  rods  extend  from 
one  side  of  a  car  to  the  other,  are  over  five  feet  across  and 
are  convenient  for  riding  purposes  at  night,  when  one  is  not 
apt  to  be  spotted.  All  one  has  to  do  is  to  swing  under,  stretch 


105 

out  one's  blankets,  use  one's  coat  for  a  pillow  and  when  one 
side  of  the  body  begins  to  ache,  just  to  turn  over  to  the  other 
side.  It  beats  a  Pullman  all  hollow  when  you  take  into  con- 
sideration the  fact  that  a  berth  in  a  Pullman  costs  from  three 
dollars  up,  a  night.  Think  of  the  money  you're  saving,  man. 
The  rods  did  get  a  little  hard  after  awhile,  but  trifles  like  that 
did  not  weigh  with  me.  Sticks  and  stones  flew  up  occasion- 
ally impelled  by  the  rapid  motion  of  the  train,  but  they  only 
tickled  me  and  made  me  grin.  The  old  hooker  soon  was  going- 
some,  and  good  luck  to  her;  may  she  keep  up  her  lick!  She 
took  a  siding  at  one  place  further  on  and  remained  a  long 
time,  which  was  annoying,  but  I  had  to  be  patient. 

What  a  God-forsaken  country  the  plains  of  Nevada  are! 
They  are  covered  with  &age-brush  and  alkali,  and  apparently 
there  is  no  end  to  them.  They  extend  further  than  the  eye 
can  see,  and  furnish  melancholy  vistas  that  only  prairie-hens, 
coyotes,  jack-rabbits,  lizards,  tarantulas,  rattlesnakes,  and 
other  varmint  appreciate. 

There  is  no  accounting  for  tastes,  of  course,  but  I'd  hate 
to  be  found  dead  in  a  country  like  this.  Some  folks  don't 
think  so,  for  they  think  this  wilderness  a  garden-spot,  a  para- 
dise, and  are  willing  to  live  and  die  there.  When  you  get 
used  to  living  in  a  place  you  will  see  beauties  in  it  that  you 
never  discovered  before  and  which  will  make  you  happy  and 
contented,  no  doubt.  Some  day  all  these  arid  plains  of  the 
wild  west  may  be  irrigated  and  then  they  will  bloom  like  a 
rose  garden. 

The  sun  was  well  up  in  the  heavens  as  we  drew  near, 
and  finally  stopped  at  Lovelocks,  a  right  pretty  little  town 
opposite  the  railroad  tracks.  I  made  a  bee-line  for  a  restau- 
rant where  I  had  a  wash-up  first  and  then  a  big  cup  of  red- 
hot  coffee  and  sinkers;  then  some  eggs  sunny  side  up,  fried 
spuds,  life  preservers,  and  then  another  big  cup  of  coffee, 
to  keep  things  floating  easy-like.  That  wasn't  very  much  to 
eat  for  a  young  fellow  who  had  been  out  in  the  open  all  night, 
but  it  sufficed  for  the  present,  for  I  wanted  to  take  a  nap 
somewhere  to  make  up  for  a  whole  lot  of  lost  sleep.  I  noticed 


10G 

a  lumber  pile  on  the  outskirts  of  town  and  went  there,  and 
laid  off  on  top  of  a  pile  of  flat  boards,  using  my  blankets  for 
a  pillow.  I  slept  until  afternoon,  getting  up  much  refreshed. 

As  I  strolled  through  the  snug  little  town  I  noticed  quite 
a  few  Indians  in  it,  squaws  and  bucks,  and  observed  that 
some  of  the  squaws  did  domestic  work  in  some  of  the  white 
people's  houses,  while  their  lords  and  masters,  the  noble  red 
man,  sat  around  on  the  outskirts  of  town,  smoked  the  pipe  of 
peace  and  gambled.  They  were  a  dirty  lousy,  filthy  crowd, 
anything  but  the  noble  specimen  of  humanity  you  see  shown 
up  so  vividly  on  moving  picture  show  screens,  and  I  don't 
think  they  ever  wash,  change  their  clothes  or  socks,  or  comb 
their  hair.  They  don't  need  the  sympathy  of  the  gentle  au- 
thoress of  "Ramona"  or  of  anyone  else,  for  they  are  perfectly 
.happy  and  content  in  their  filth  and  free-and-easy  way  of 
living.  "Everybody  works  but  father,"  applies  here,  for  the 
Indian  father  lets  mother  and  the  kids  do  the  work  whilst 
he  loafs  and  enjoys  himself.  And  more  power  to  him!  It's 
up  to  the  squaw  to  kick,  but  she  dare  not  for  she'd  get 
thrashed  to  within  an  inch  of  her  life  if  she  even  hinted  that 
she  was  dissatisfied.  The  Red  Man  has  her  well  trained.  As 
for  the  kids,  they  have  to  be  mighty  respectful  to  their  dads 
and  are  ready  to  jump  at  a  look.  The  Red  Man  is  not  worry- 
ing over  anything.  It  is  only  the  silly  and  fiery  young  bucks 
who  feel  impelled  to  go  on  the  war-path  in  springtime  to  gain 
a  little  glory  in  the  eyes  of  their  lady-love. 

Winnemucca  was  the  next  stop.  It  is  a  town  of  about  2,- 
0$0  inhabitants,  situated  40  or  50  miles  east  of  Lovelock  close 
to  some  bare  and  lonely  mountains,  on  the  floor  of  the  prairie. 
There  is  plenty  of  sage-brush  and  dust  thereabout,  but  no 
trees,  and  the  landscapes  seem  desolate. 

Winnemucca  is  the  county  seat  of  some  county,  arid  it 
is  quite  a  thriving  little  business  center.  It  contains  a  restau- 
rant or  two,  several  saloons,  a  hotel  or  two,  a  few  rooming- 
houses,  a  bank,  and  quite  a  number  of  stores  and  dwellings.  The 
inhabitants  call  their  town  "Winnamuck,"  for  so  the  old  In- 
dian chief  was  called  after  whom  the  place  was  named.  I 


107 

still  have  a  drinking-glass  that  I  obtained  there — no  matter 
how  I  obtained  it.  I  took  a  walk  through  the  town  to  size 
it  up  and  to  try  and  find  a  place  where  I  could  take  a  bath, 
for  I  needed  one.  I  had  been  told  that  there  was  a  creek  at 
the  edge  of  town,  near  the  foothills,  and  I  found  this  to  be 
the  case,  but  the  water  was  so  muddy  and  filthy  that  had  I 
plunged  into  it  I  would  have  emerged  uncleaner  than  I  went 
in.  Needless  to  say  I  didn't  go  in. 

What  sustained  the  place,  I  wondered?  Mining  and  cattle 
raising,  I  was  told,  and  there  was  considerable  of  both  done, 
though  where  it  was  done  was  not  visible  to  the  naked  eye. 
The  place  was  rough  and  at  one  time  had  been  wild  and 
woolly,  that  is,  soon  after  the  overland  railroad  had  been 
built — but  that  is  quite  a  long  time  ago.  Like  all  the  border 
towns,  Winnemucca  was  full  of  gamblers,  fast  women,  hurdy- 
gurdy  houses,  drinking  places,  dives,  gambling  places,  etc., 
and  like  the  rest,  it  usually  had  a  man  or  two  for  breakfast. 
Now,  the  place  is  Sunday-school-like  in  comparison.  Only  a 
few  weeks  before  my  arrival  some  bandits  had  broken  into 
the  bank  and  had  looted  it  of  a  large  sum  of  money,  but  since 
then  a  trellis  work  of  substantial  iron  has  been  constructed 
from  the  top  of  the  counter  clear  to  the  ceiling,  with  holes 
just  large  enough  at  the  base  for  people  to  put  their  hands 
through  when  depositing  or  taking  out  money,  so  that  the 
next  set  of  bandits  who  call  to  make  a  raise  will  have  to  crawl 
through  mighty  small  holes  to  do  it.  It  did  not  take  me  long 
to  "do"  Winnemucca  nor  to  resolve  to  get  out  of  it,  for  it 
looked  lonesome-like  to  me,  but  I  had  to  wait  for  a  train — 
mine  had  gone,  long  ago. 

In  due  time,  that  is  to  say,  that  evening,  I  got  a  train  out 
of  there,  but  this  time  I  had  to  ride  the  bumpers.  I  saw  no 
other  way.  The  bumpers  are  the  things  that  fasten  the  cars 
together  so  that  all  the  cars  form  a  train.  They  just  afford  a 
foothold  and  that  is  all.  Take  a  look  at  any  railroad  car  and 
judge  for  yourself.  They  do  not  make  very  easy  riding  for 
it  is  "standing-up"  all  the  time  with  a  precarious  hold.  Pew 
care  to  ride  that  way  long  at  a  stretch,  but  I  held  on  for  many 


108 

miles,  until  I  felt  I  could  not  hold  on  much  longer;  then  I 
jumped  off  at  the  next  stopping  place. 

The  stations  along  my  route  in  Nevada  were  few  and  far 
between  and  they  were  not  towns  or  villages,  or  hamlets  even, 
but  merely  railroad  stations — a  water-tank,  pump-house  and 
section  boss's  dwellings — that  was  all.  Around  them  was 
sagebrush  covered  prairie,  and  that  is  all. 

The  towns  are  a  hundred  miles  or  so  apart  and  do  not 
amount  to  much.  They  consist  of  a  few  dwellings  and  a  few 
stores  and  that  is  all.  A  general  store  or  two,  restaurant, 
postoffice,  bakery,  barber  shop,  blacksmith  shop,  several 
saloons  and  an  hotel,  is  their  general  make-up.  It  must  be  a 
lonely  life  these  people  lead,  so  far  from  the  crowded  haunts 
of  men,  but  they  seem  to  be  satisfied  and  contented.  I  wonder 
would  the  most  wretched,  poverty-stricken  people  in  the  cities 
change  places  with  them  if  they  could? 

The  next  town  I  stopped  at  was  Elko.  It  contains  a  hotel, 
a  store  or  two,  a  barber  shop,  blacksmith  shop,  a  few  saloons, 
but  that  is  about  all.  It  is  an  oasis  in  the  desert.  I  was  glad 
to  remain  there  a  day  to  rest  up,  to  get  a  good  slee-p,  a  good 
feed  and  a  bath.  If  you  want  to  know  all  about  a  place  and 
its  inhabitants  go  into  a  saloon,  for  what  the  frequenters 
there  can't  tell  you  about  it  isn't  worth  knowing.  I  heard  that 
there  were  some  wonderful  mineral  springs  up  in  the  hills 
about  a  mile  from  town  and  a  swimming  pond  as  well.  As  I 
wanted  a  thorough  clean-up  I  concluded  to  go  out  that  way. 

I  followed  the  wagon  road  out  of  town  a  little  way, 
through  dust  and  sage-brush,  and  then  followed  the  road  up- 
ward through  the  hills.  It  was  a  hard  old  road  to  climb  for 
it  was  deep  with  dust  and  rutty,  and  lost  itself  after  it  had 
gone  up  a  way.  If  it  didn't,  then  I  lost  it.  The  hills  were  all 
covered  with  sage-brush  and  one  hill  looked  just  like  another. 
Where  on  earth  are  the  pond  and  springs?  I  couldn't  see  any. 
I  began  to  dispair  and  feel  like  giving  up,  but  after  climbing 
one  more  hill  to  its  summit,  there  right  below  me  lay  a  little 
basin,  or  hollow,  in  which  there  was  a  pond  of  water  about 
150  feet  in  diameter.  The  basin  was  circular  in  form  and 


109 

from  the  appearance  of  things,  I  judged  that  it  must  have 
been  the  mouth  of  a  volcano,  for  around  the  rim  of  the  basin 
there  issued  little  jets  of  sulphur  water  intermittently.  They 
were  boiling  hot,  and  the  pond  itself  was  the  crater  hole,  but 
it  was  now  filled  up  with  water.  It  had  been  tried  at  various 
times  to  sound  the  depth  of  the  crater,  but  after  thousands 
of  feet  of  line  had  been  let  down  and  no  bottom  found,  the 
job  had  been  given  up  in  despair. 

I  walked  all  around  the  pond  sampling  the  sulphur  water 
here  and  there  and  finding  it  good  to  drink.  For  a  few 
minutes  the  soil  on  these  little  sulphur  springs  would  rest 
quiet  and  no  one  would  suspect  that  there  was  anything  lively 
underneath  the  soil,  but  like  a  flash  there  would  be  a  sizzling 
and  a  bubbling,  and  then  boiling  jets  of  sulphur  would  spurt 
up  a  little  way.  "I  guess  I  am  pretty  close  to  hell/'  thinks  I. 

The  water  in  the  volcano  basin  is  not  hot  but  just  hike 
warm  and  is  just  the  right  temperature  for  swimming  pur- 
poses. This  seems  to  be  a  favorite  bathing  place  of  the 
Indians,  for  bucks,  squaws  and  papooses  bathe  in  it.  The 
timid  ones  go  to  one  part  of  the  basin  where  the  water  is  not 
deep,  but  some  of  the  daring 'bucks  swim  right  in  the  crater- 
hole  where  bottom  has  never  been  found,  and  noisily  glory 
in  their  temerity.  More  than  one  daring  buck  has  paid  forfeit 
with  his  life  and  his  body  was  never  recovered.  Just  a  week 
before  I  came  there  a  young  buck  who  was  too  frolicsome 
lost  his  life  that  way  and  his  body  was  not  recovered. 

As  I  needed  a  bath  I  shed  every  stitch  of  clothing — there 
was  not  a  soul  within  miles  of  me  apparently — and  plunged 
in.  The  water  was  just  right,  neither  too  hot  nor  too  cold. 
I  floundered  and  flopped  around,  gave  myself  a  good  rub  and 
enjoyed  the  bath  hugely.  I  spent  an  hour  or  two  at  the  extinct 
volcano  thinking,  speculating  and  wondering  at  the  ways  and 
methods  of  the  Creator.  How  many  millions  of  years  is  it 
since  these  hills  were  formed,  and  since  they  were  separated 
by  fire  and  brimstone?  And  the  fires  are  still  burning,  to 
judge  from  the  red-hot  sulphur  water  bubbling  up.  Such 
problems  are  too  deep  for  me.  I  gave  them  up.  Slowly  and 


110 

thoughtfully  I  wandered  back  to  Elko  and  continued  my 
journey  eastward. 

It  would  be  tedious  to  mention  all  my  stoppages  along  the 
route  and  describe  them  all,  so  I  will  merely  say  that  after 
about  a  week's  pretty  constant  traveling  I  traversed  the  broad 
state  of  Nevada  and  came  to  the  western  end  of  Utah. 

In  Utah  I  came  to  the  Great  Salt  Lake,  said  to  be  the 
largest  inland  salt  water  sea  in  the  world.  The  waters  of 
this  lake  are  so  salty  that  they  will  float  almost  anything, 
and  it  is  said  that  if  you  swim  in  it  and  get  your  head  down 
in  the  water  and  your  heels  up,  you  can  never  right  yourself; 
whether  this  is  true  or  not,  I  don't  know.  I  didn't  try  it. 

The  railroad  grains  used  to  go  around  the  lake,  but  now 
they  save  about  forty  miles  by  going  right  through  the  lake 
on  a  trestle,  which  is  thirty  miles  in  length,  and  saves  a 
good  deal  of  time.  This  is  called  the  Lucin  Cut-off.  I  crossed 
the  trestle  on  the  brake-beams  of  a  freight  car  and  mighty 
slow  and  tedious  riding  it  was.  I  looked  down  into  the  won- 
derfully deep  blue  water  of  the  lake  through  the  heavy  ties 
until  I  grew  dizzy  and  nearly  fell  off  of  my  narrow  perch, 
but  I  held  on  to  the  slender  brake-rod  in  front  of  me  like 
grim  death.  Had  I  swooned  or  let  go,  this  veracious  chronicle 
would  never  have  been  written. 

I  have  had  several  close  calls  during  my  road  work,  but 
a  miss  is  as  good  as  a  mile.  A  fellow  takes  more  or  less  of 
a  chance  every  time  he  beats  a  train,  and  if  anything  hap- 
pens to  him  he  must  not  kick,  for  it  is  part  of  the  game.  One 
or  two  moments  unconsciousness,  from  dizziness  on  the  brake- 
beam  while  crossing  Salt  Lake  would  have  done  for  me,  for 
had  I  fallen  off  I  would  have  been  cut  into  mince-meat  by  the 
cars.  But  this  is  getting  a  little  too  imaginative,  let's  stick 
to  facts.  Nothing  happened,  and  here  I  am,  right  side  up 
with  care,  still  in  the  ring  and  ready  for  more  trouble. 

I  remained  in  Ogden,  the  end  of  the  first  long  lap  of  my 
route,  several  days,  for  my  money  had  all  been  spent  by  this 
time,  and  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  go  to  work  to  earn 
some  more.  This  a  genuine  hobo  never  would  have  done. 


Ill 

He  would  have  prowled  around  town  looking  for  hand-outs 
or  anything  else  that  came  his  way.  Along  the  main  residence 
streets  in  Ogden  I  came  upon  the  ample  grounds  of  a  resi- 
dence in  which  I  saw  a  pile  of  uncut  logs.  I  boldly  entered 
the  grounds,  walked  up  to  the  mansion  and  rang  the  door- 
bell. The  lady  of  the  house  came  to  the  door  and  asked  me 
what  I  wanted.  I  begged  her  "for  the  privilege  to  toil — to 
cut  her  wood."  She  agreed  to  let  me  do  so,  and  said  that  she 
would  like  to  have  it  cut  in  stove  lengths  and  offered  me  a 
dollar  a  day,  room  and  board  for  my  work.  I  jumped  at  the 
offer  and  put  in  a  good  week's  work,  working  fairly  and 
steadily.  I  roomed  in  an  out-house,  had  good  board  and  had 
no  kick  coming.  The  lady  was  about  thirty-five  years  of  age 
and  she  had  a  charming  figure  and  a  thin,  intellectual  face. 
She  had  laughing  eyes  and  sensuous  lips  and  was  the  plural 
wife  of  some  rich  and  lustful  Mormon,  but  I.  never  set  eyes 
on  the  husband.  I  was  told  by  outsiders  that  the  lady  was  a 
Mormon.  Seems  to  me  that  had  I  been  her  husband  I  would 
have  turned  up  occasionally,  for  the  lady  was  mighty  engag- 
ing. Maybe  he  had  others,  though,  who  were  equally  charm- 
ing. Say,  girlie!  how  would  you  like  to  have  a  man  love  you 
and  then  divide  his  love  up  among  several  other  girls? 
Could  you  stand  that?  I  put  in  a  week  at  Ogden  this  time,  as 
I  said  before,  and  had  a  good  long  surcease  from  travel,  but 
after  that  time  the  desire  to  get  on  began  to  come  over  me 
again,  so  I  resumed  my  journey. 

I  had  now  traveled  about  one-eighth  the  distance  of  my 
trip,  and  I  found  that  the  expanses  out  west  are  mighty  com- 
prehensive. Indeed,  they  seem  endless,  for  as  soon  as  one 
long  vista  terminated  another  one  opened.  The  scenery 
through  which  my  trains  now  rolled  was  more  interesting 
than  that  through  Nevada,  for  here  were  mountains,  canyons 
and  water-courses,  precipices,  gorges,  etc.,  that  developed 
diversified  panoramas  to  my  gaze  at  nearly  every  turn  of 
the  wheels.  We  were  going  through  Weber  Canyon  now, 
near  Ogden,  a  narrow  mountain  pass.  The  scenery  was  wild 
and  enchanting.  The  canyon  seemed  to  me  to  be  forty  or 


112 

fifty  miles  long,  but  it  took  us  a  long  time  to  traverse  it,  the 
train  twisting  in  and  around  curves  like  a  snake.  Quite  a 
contrast  and  a  relief  such  scenes  afforded  from  bare,  monot- 
onous prairies.  They  kept  me  gazing. 

Soon  we  came  to  a  towering  mountain,  hundreds  of  feet 
in  height,  almost  straight  up  and  down,  down  which  ran  a 
curious  formation  of  rock,  which  some  chump  named  "The 
Devil's  Slide."  I  call  the  fellow  who  named  it  so,  a  chump 
because  he  must  have  had  a  queer  notion  of  his  satanic 
majesty's  personality.  Let  me  explain. 

The  slide  consists  of  two  walls  of  rocks  about  twenty 
feet  apart,  forty  feet  high  and  about  1000  feet  long,  which 
begins  away  up  on  top  of  the  mountain  and  runs  down  almost 
to  the  railroad  track.  The  walls  are  about  as  even  on  top  as 
the  teeth  of  a  buck-saw,  and  as  they  are  about  twenty  feet 
apart,  what  kind  of  a  form  must  the  devil  have  to  ride  down 
it?  How  can  anyone  think  that  he  is  twenty  feet  wide  in 
the  beam  or  that  he  can  come  sliding  down  ragged  edges 
like  that?  Stranger,  if  ever  you  see  The  Devil's  Slide,  try 
io  suggest  a  better  name  for  it!  That  could  easily  be  done. 

The  train  traverses  only  a  small  portion  of  Utah,  and  then 
it  rushes  into  Wyoming,  a  state  much  wider  than  Nevada 
even,  which  is  a  very  wide  state.  I  had  all  kinds  of  adven- 
tures in  Wyoming,  but  only  one  or  two  of  them  are  worthy 
of  mention. 

When  I  got  as  far  as  Rock  Springs  my  money  began  to 
give  out,  and  I  was  beginning  to  think  it  time  to  earn  some 
more,  for  I  preferred  to  buy  my  grub  rather  than  to  beg  it. 
Anyway,  you  cannot  always  get  a  hand-out  when  you  want  it, 
but  if  you  have  money  you  can  buy  a  square  meal  or  pro- 
visions anywhere.  To  earn  money  necessitated  delays,  of 
course,  but  begging  is  a  disreputable  business,  and  I  never 
took  to  it  kindly  even  when  necessity  compelled  me. 

I  got  to  Rock  Springs  early  one  morning  and  noticed  a 
big  bunch  of  cattle  in  a  corral  from  which  they  were  about 
to  be  driven  by  a  number  of  bull-whackers.  I  watched  opera- 
tions a  little  while  and  then  made  up  my  mind  to  strike  the 


113 

boss  of  the  outfit  for  a  job.  He  was  a  tall,  lean,  hungry- 
looking  chap  who  was  all  sinew  and  bone,  and  I  could  tell 
from  his  manner  that  he  was  the  boss.  I  strolled  up  to  him, 
told  him  that  I  was  broke  and  braced  him  for  a  job.  He 
eyed  me  critically,  sized  me  up,  and  then  asked,  "kin  you 
ride?" 

"Ride  anything  with  hair  on,"  responded  I. 

"Hm?"  ejaculated  he,  doubtful,  for  that  is  almost  every 
cowboy's  boast.  "Where  did  you  do  your  riding?" 

"Me?  I  herded  cattle  in  California."  The  boss  distrusted 
me  and  thought  I  was  lying,  in  which  he  was  not  far  wrong, 
for  I  had  never  herded  cattle,  though  I  had  done  considerable 
riding  and  was  a  pretty  fair  buck-aroo.  He  gave  me  the 
benefit  of  the  doubt,  however,  and  engaged  me  then  and  there 
for  twenty  dollars  per  month  with  room  and  chuck  thrown 
in,  my  bedroom  to  be  all  Wyoming,  which  was  a  broad  one. 
The  chuck  consited  of  bacon  and  beans,  flapjacks,  sow-belly 
and  hot  biscuits.  A  cook  and  chuck  wagon  followed  the  outfit; 
also  a  tent,  which  a  fellow  could  sleep  in  or  not,  as  he  chose. 
There  were  hundreds  of  'cattle  in  the  bunch,  dried-up  cows, 
steers  and  three-year-olds,  all  of  which  were  to  be  driven  to 
the  owner's  ranch  in  the  interior.  I  asked  no  questions  where 
they  were  to  be  driven,  for  I  didn't  care;  all  I  cared  about  was 
to  earn  a  few  dollars  in  an  honest  way,  although  I  had  no 
right  to  lie  to  gain  my  purposes. 

The  cattle  were  ornery  brutes,  range  cattle,  and  they  all 
looked  as  if  they  hadn't  had  anything  to  eat  for  a  coon's  age, 
for  nearly  all  of  them  were  skinny.  There  were  three  other 
bull-whackers  in  the  outfit  besides  the  boss  and  myself,  mak- 
ing five  in  all.  It  was  to  be  our  task  to  drive  the  cattle  and 
to  herd  them. 

The  job  was  not  a  difficult  one,  for  the  cattle  were  docile 
enough,  and  as  there  was  no  branding  to  be  done  at  that 
time,  neither  was  there  to  be  any  roping  (lassoing),  for  had 
there  been  any  of  the  latter  I  wouldn't  have  been  in  the  game 
at  all.  I  never  roped  a  steer  in  my  life  and  didn't  know  any 


114 

more  about  it  than  a  babe.  In  that  respect  I  was  a  tender- 
foot, or  greenhorn. 

We  got  to  the  range  in  two  days'  time,  and  then  it  was 
just  plain  herding.  We  cowboys  had  a  tent  for  our  use  and 
our  duties  were  to  keep  riding  around  the  cattle  all  day  so 
they  would  not  stray  away.  At  night,  only  one  man  was  left 
on  guard,  to  keep  an  eye  on  animals  and  on  the  cattle.  Every 
cowboy  wears  a  belt  with  pistol  in  it,  ammunition,  an  overcoat, 
etc.,  but  as  I  owned  no  pistol  one  of  my  mates  loaned  me  his. 
The  boys  were  a  good-hearted,  rollicking,  devil-may-care  set 
of  fellows  who  feared  nothing.  Although  they  knew  at  once 
that  I  was  not  a  professional  bull- whacker,  yet,  as  I  was  a 
fairly  good  rider  they  had  some  respect  for  me.  I  told  them 
frankly  that  I  was  there  only  to  earn  a  piece  of  money.  As 
a  usual  thing  cattle  do  not  feed  at  night  on  the  range  except 
when  the  moon  is  up  and  affords  plenty  of  light,  but  on  dark 
nights  they  squat  and  contentedly  chew  the  cud. 

The  first  moonlit  night  I  was  put  on  watch  there  was 
trouble.  Some  of  the  cattle  had  strayed  away  and  I  could  not 
get  them  in.  When  I  went  after  one  brute  that  had  strayed 
and  got  him  back  into  the  bunch,  others  were  straying  and 
though  I  did  some  pretty  lively  riding,  and  considerable  yell- 
ing, I  could  not  succeed  in  keeping  the  brutes  together.  I 
saw  that  the  task  was  beyond  me  and  that  I  would  need  help. 
I  went  to  the  tent  and  called  up  the  boys  who  arose  out  of 
their  warm  blankets  grumbling  and  growling  to  beat  the  band. 
They  knew  at  once  what  the  trouble  was.  They  saddled 
up  and  away  they  went  after  the  cattle.  I  followed  one  of  the 
boys.  This  chap  made  after  an  obstreperous  brute  which  was 
feeding  all  by  his  lonely  away  off  from  the  rest  of  the  herd. 
As  soon  as  he  saw  us  coming  he  gave  a  snort  of  defiance, 
elevated  his  tail,  lowered  his  head  and  made  off.  That  -got 
the  cowboy  furious.  He  uncoiled  his  lariat,  rushed  his  pony 
up  close  to  the  steer  and  let  fly.  The  coil  settled  around 
the  steer's  horns  and  the  pony — which  understood  its  busi- 
ness— braced  its  forelegs  for  the  coming  shock.  It  came  in 
an  instant  after  the  steer  had  reached  the  end  of  the  tether 


115 

and  up  he  flew  into  the  air,  turning  a  complete  somersault 
as  he  flew.  He  landed  on  his  back  with  a  jar  that  shook  the 
earth  and  then  he  lay  still  for  a  few  moments.  Slowly  he 
turned  himself  up  to  a  sitting  posture,  arose  to  his  feet,  and 
shook  his  head  in  a  dazed  sort  of  way,  wondering  who  or 
what  had  struck  him. 

"You  will  run  away,  you  ugly  son  of  a ,  you!      Gol 

darn  your  ugly  hide,  anyway.  Try  it  again,  will  you?"  "I'll 
teach  you  manners.  Now  you  get  along  there  and  no  more 
fooling."  Here  followed  some  more  pretty  tall  cussing.  The 
steer  was  trembling  in  every  limb  for  the  shock  had  been 
sudden  and  great — then  he  meekly  ran  to  the  herd,  all  the 
defiance  and  fire  taken  out  of  him. 

The  other  cowboys  were  having  a  long  and  exhausting 
ride  of  it,  for  the  cattle  had  wandered  off  to  all  points  of  the 
compass.  It  was  extremely  difficult  to  get  them  all  in.  1 
don't  know  whether  they  were  recovered.  This  arduous  work 
was  done  when  they  should  have  been  snugly  in  bed  and  they 
did  not  like  it. 

After  breakfast  the  next  morning  the  boss  and  I  had  a 
heart-to-heart  talk.  I  was  saddling  up,  getting  ready  to  go 
on  the  range  when  he  came  toward  me.  I  could  see  that  he 
was  mad  clear  through. 

"Say,  mister;  you  call  yourself  a  cowboy,  you  do?  You 
don't  know  any  more  about  herding  cattle  than  a  kid,  and 
I'd  advise  you  to  get  off  .the  ranch  as  soon  as  you  kin;  you 
hear  me?  What  do  you  mean  by  coming  here  and  telling  me 
you  know  anything  about  herding  cattle?  You're  a  gol  darn 
lying,  thieving  Mexican  Greaser,  and  I  have  a  mind  to  wipe  up 
the  earth  with  you.  You ,  etc., ,  etc., ,  etc." 

He  was  mad  all  right.  As  I  had  been  in  the  wrong  I  said 
nothing  in  reply  to  all  of  this.  The  three  cowboys  regarded 
us  from  a  little  distance  with  interest,  for  they  scented  a 
scrap. 

The  boss  continued  to  abuse  me,  for  he  was  wound  up  for 
fair.  "You  dirty,  lying,  Mexican  Greaser,  some  of  my  cattle 
has  strayed  away  and  I'll  never  find  'em  again.  Do  you  know 


116 

what  I've  a  mind  to  do  with  you?     I've  a  mind  to  put  you  out 
of  business." 

He  was  armed  and  I  was  not,  but  his  threat  got  me  huffy, 
so  for  the  first  time  I  made  answer:  "You're  a  bluffing  son  of 

a ,  you  couldn't  shoot  nothing.     Pay  me  off  and  I'll  get 

out  of  here!" 

"Pay  you  off,"  yelled  he,  frothing  at  the  mouth  and  peel- 
ing off  his  coat  and  flinging  it  down  on  the  ground  with  con- 
tempt. I'll  pay  you  off  right  now." 

I  deliberately  pulled  off  my  coat  with  a  sneer  of  contempt. 
I  felt  ready  for  anything.  The  cowboys  gathered  around  us 
to  take  in  the  circus.  They  were  in  their  glory,  in  the  seventh 
heaven  of  delight,  for  they  dearly  like  to  see  a  scrap;  any- 
thing to  vary  the  monotony  of  a  humdrum  existence,  think  they. 
It  would  give  them  something  to  talk  about,  too. 

"Oh,  you  want  to  be  paid  off,  you  do?"  sarcastically  yelled 
the  boss  as  he  danced  about  looking  for  an  opening.  I  had 
never  taken  boxing  lessons,  but  I  was  as  strong  as  a  young- 
bull  and  as  quick  as  lightning.  I  am  strongly  built  and  hard 
to  down. 

"Here's  one  that'll  help  to  pay  you  off,"  shouted  the  boss 
as  he  made  a  swing  at  me  that  would  have  put  me  out  of 
business  then  and  there  had  it  landed,  for  it  was  an  ox-felling 
blow,  but  I  ducked  it. 

"Try  again,"  said  I,  smiling.  My  coolness  and  effrontery 
got  him  madder  still,  so  he  tried  to  close  in.  He  hit  me  a 
swinging  blow  in  the  eye  which  staggered  me  and  made  me 
see  stars  for  a  second  or  two,  but  it  was  the  only  effective 
blow  he  struck.  I  rained  pile-drivers  so  fast  all  over  his  face, 
that  he  couldn't  get  in  another  blow,  and  one  blow  that  struck 
him  on  the  jaw  was  like  the  kick  of  a  mule.  It  keeled  him 
over  on  his  back  and  he  lay  still.  He  was  my  meat;  of  that  I 
now  felt  sure.  He  got  up  again,  but  was  groggy  on  his  pins, 
and  he  came  for  me,  but  down  he  went  before  another  pile- 
driver.  He  knew  himself,  now,  that  I  was  his  master,  so  he 
concluded  to  quit,  muttering  something.  The  cowboys  stood 
around,  saying  not  a  word,  but  taking  in  everything.  They 


117 

would  not  have  interfered  for  the  world,  for  they  love  fair 
play;  but,  had  there  been  foul  play,  they  would  have  taken  a 
hand  at  once.  Was  the  boss  going  for  his  gun?  I  followed 
him  and  told  him  to  pay  me  off  at  once,  or  I  would  beat  him 
to  death.  He  paid  me  off  without  a  word. 

I  bade  the  cowboys  goodbye  and  lit  out. 

The  cowboy  business  is  now  getting  to  be  a  thing  of  the 
past.  In  nearly  all  the  western  states  the  ranges  are  being 
divided  into  small  holdings  and  settled  upon. 

The  cow  punching  business  is  a  pretty  hard  life,  and  some 
one  who  knows  more  about  it  than  I  do,  speaks  of  it  thus:  . 

"In  the  beginning  of  the  year  1899  I  was  earning  my  living 
by  the  esthetic  pursuit  of  punching  cows  on  the  L  Bar  Ranch, 
not  far  from  Santa  Rosa,  New  Mexico.  The  onward  march  of 
civilization  is  gradually  but  surely  eliminating  the  picturesque 
cowboy  from  the  scenery  of  the  west,  but  at  the  time  I  speak 
of,  he  was  in  the  heydey  of  his  glory,  such  as  it  was.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  the  fiction  writers  have  always  thrown  an 
undeserved  halo  around  the  life  of  a  cow  puncher,  being  'long' 
on  the  romantic  side  of  the  same,  but  'short'  on  the  many 
disagreeable  features  attending  it. 

"Speaking  from  experience,  I  can  say  that  the  life  of  a 
cowboy  was  not  to  be  envied  by  any  man  who  valued  his 
personal  comfort  and  peace  of  mind.  He  was  obliged  to  be 
in  the  saddle,  riding  from  sunrise  to  sunset,  and  often  stand- 
ing guard  two  hours  of  the  night,  besides.  He  had  to  eat 
beef  fried  in  lard  and  cooked  until  it  resembled  a  dried  leaf. 
He  was  supplied  with  the  yellowest  imaginable  doughy  bis- 
cuits, and  the  water  he  drank  was  so  often  bitterly  alkaline 
as  to  be  nauseating.  During  the  day  he  suffered  from  the 
heat  and  lack  of  food  and  drink;  during  the  night,  from  the 
cold  and  wet.  The  little  time  he  had  for  sleep  he  often  spent 
in  a  pool  of  water,  for  his  bed  was  made  in  the  open  air  with 
the  sky  for  a  roof.  He  was  exposed  to  constant  danger  of  life 
and  limb,  associating  with  rough  men;  he  heard  wild  talk  and 
saw  wild  deeds.  The  very  experience  he  led  obliged  him  to 
be  indifferent  to  danger,  and  removed  as  he  was  from  many 


118 

of  the  restraints  of  law  and  society,  he  was  very  apt  to  go  to 
extremes.  The  riders  were  frequently  men  who  were  unable 
to  live  in  law-abiding  communities,  and  sought  the  frontiers 
to  escape  the  bonds  of  civilization.  Having  had  three  years 
of  this  wild  and  woolly  existence,  I  was  heartily  sick  of  it  and 
when,  some  twelve  months  later  I  dropped  into  a  snug  berth 
as  United  States  deputy  marshal  in  Arizona,  there  was  never 
a  man  who  was  better  fitted  to  appreciate  the  boon  that  for- 
tune sent  him." 

The  second  experience  I  had  in  Wyoming  that  I  wish  to 
mention,  happened  on  the  outskirts  of  Rawlins,  in  a  hobo  camp. 
I  happened  to  come  upon  this  camp  while  walking  eastward. 
I  could  not  always^  beat  my  way  on  trains  for  lack  of  oppor- 
tunity; and  sometimes  because  I  was  put  off  at  a  siding  or 
water  tank  when  the  train  crew  got  onto  me,  but  I  never 
hiked  unless  I  had  to.  It  is  no  joke  hiking  through  an  unfam- 
iliar wilderness  where  there  are  few  towns,  people  or  houses. 

I  struck  this  hobo  camp  one  afternoon  after  a  long  walk 
and  was  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  rest  and  to  have  a  chat  with 
some  one.  There  were  half  a  dozen  'boes  in  this  camp  when 
I  struck  it,  who  were  seated  on  railroad  ties,  but  no  fire  had 
been  lighted  as  yet,  for  the  weather  was  warm  and  sunny,  and 
it  was  too  early  for  the  evening  meal  to  be  prepared.  There 
was  one  chap  in  the  camp  whom  I  wish  to  describe. 

This  chap  was  a  little  redheaded  Hebrew,  about  five  feet, 
two  inches  in  height,  who  had  a  sandy  moustache,  blue  eyes, 
curly  hair,  an  effeminate  manner  and  the  ways  of  a  dude. 
Why  he  was  on  the  road  I  did  not  learn.  He  was  out  of  his 
element  among  'boes,  for  he  ought  to  have  been  at  home 
putting  on  style.  His  name  was  Gus  and  he  looked  like  a  Gus- 
sie.  The  boys  called  him  Gussie  in  fun. 

The  little  chap  had  a  lisp,  but  he  was  a  good  talker  and 
when  he  became  animated,  had  a  habit  of  running  around  in 
a  circle.  I  believed  the  fellow  was  a  bit  off  mentally— had 
wheels  in  fact. 

Somehow  or  other  he  took  to  me — freaks  usually  do — 
and  became  confidential.  He  showed  me  a  lot  of  pasteboard 


119 

signs  that  he  had  with  him  which  were  done  up  in  an  oilcloth 
parcel,  and  he  told  me  that  he  was  peddling  these  signs  along 
the  road  to  help  defray  expenses.  He  had  no  trouble  at  all 
in  selling  them,  he  assured  me,  for  they  cost  only  twenty-five 
cents  each,  and  almost  every  storekeeper  bought  one  or  more. 
The  signs  were  about  8x10  inches  in  size,  were  neatly  printed 
in  colors,  and  in  various  kinds  of  display  type.  No  two  signs 
were  alike.  The  signs  were  for  business  purposes  and  con- 
tained such  mottoes  as,  "In  God  We  Trust;  All  Others  Must 
Pay  Cash";  "Poor  Trust  (underneath  these  two  words  there 
was  the  picture  of  a  dog,  poor  Trust)  is  dead;  bad  debts 
killed  him";  "Pay  today  and  Trust  tomorrow";  "Our  trust- 
ing department  is  on  the  roof,  take  the  elevator";  "Every 
time  you  take  a  drink,  things  look  different";  "If  you  can't 
pay,  don't  play";  "Come  in  and  look  out";  "No  trouble  to 
show  goods";  "Razors  put  in  order  good  as  new";  "We 
study  to  please";  "We  lead,  others  follow";  "Good  goods, 
low  prices";  "If  you  don't  see  what  you  want,  ask  for  it"; 
"New  and  second  hand  goods,"  etc.,  etc. 

He  had  dozens  of  these  signs  and  very  few  were  dupli- 
cates. Gussie  took  to  me  for  some  reason  or  other  (maybe 
because  I  looked  green  and  unsophisticated)  and  told  me  that 
he  could  put  me  on  to  a  good  thing  if  I  were  willing.  He  would 
sell  me  as  many  of  these  signs  as  I  cared  to  buy  at  ten  cents 
each,  and  if  I  would  buy  fifty  of  them  he  would  give  me  the 
name  and  address  of  the  wholesaler,  so  that  I  could  buy  more 
of  them  if  I  wanted  to,  at  wholesale  prices.  He  solemnly 
assured  me  on  his  word  of  honor  that  he  had  no  trouble  at 
all  in  selling  the  signs  for  twenty-five  cents  each,  and  that 
they  went  like  hot  cakes;  to  see  'em  was  to  buy  'em.  His  talk 
sounded  good  to  me  and  impressed  me  but  I  told  him  that  I 
could  not  buy  fifty  signs  from  him,  for  the  reason  that  I  had 
only  two  dollars  in  my  possession. 

'Til  buy  two  dollars  worth  from  you,"  said  I,  "if  you'll 
throw  in  the  name  of  the  wholesaler.  That's  the  best  I  can 
do."  Gussie  opened  his  heart,  ran  around  in  a  circle  once  or 
twice,  and  then  said:  '  "All  right,  I  see  you  are  a  pretty  good 


120 

fellar;  I'll  sell  you  twenty  of  de  signs  for  two  dollars.     Don't 
tell  de  oder  fellers,  dough!" 

I  promised  to  keep  mum,  so  he  took  me  off  somewhere, 
let  me  take  my  pick  and  choice  of  the  signs  (which  I  thought 
was  kind  of  him)  and  I  gave  him  all  the  money  I  had,  without 
a  qualm,  for  I  divined  that  the  signs  would  be  good  sellers. 
And  they  were.  I  had  no  trouble  at  all  in  selling  them,  the 
only  difficulty  being  in  the  price.  Some  people  thought  twen- 
ty-five cents  was  too  much  to  pay  for  a  mere  pasteboard  sign, 
unframed,  but  others- handed  out  the  coin  without  a  murmur. 
Some  people  let  go  easily,  anyway;  and  others  hard. 

Gussie  had  played  sharp  with  me,  though.  After  I  had 
sold  nearly  all  of  my  signs,  I  wrote  to  the  wholesale  dealer, 
who  informed  me  that  he  would  sell  me  all  the  signs  I  wanted 
of  that  kind,  in  dozen  lots,  at  five  cents  each,  freight  prepaid. 
Thus,  the  darn  little  redheaded  Hebrew  had  skinned  me  after 
all. 

The  signs  sold  easily,  that  is  if  one  had  any  ability  as  a 
salesman  at  all,  and  the  tact  to  talk  to  people  in  a  business- 
like way.  I  had  not  much  tact  at  first  but  I  soon  acquired  it, 
and  liked  the  occupation  of  selling  goods  very  much.  When 
I  went  into  a  store  to  sell,  people  treated  me  with  civility,  and 
not  as  if  I  were  a  bum,  although  I  looked  seedy  enough,  good- 
ness knows!  They  were  kind  enough  to  talk  to  me  and  did 
not  frown  upon  me  nor  show  contempt.  They  regarded  me 
as  a  merchant  and  I  began  to  feel  that  I  was. 

Thank  the  Lord,  now  I  would  not  have  to  do  any  more 
hard  manual  labor.  No  more  wood  chopping,  no  dock  wol- 
loping  in  the  cities,  no  working  in  the  harvest  fields  in  the 
country,  no  street  laboring  work,  no  back  breaking  work  in 
brickyards,  etc.,  etc.  No,  all  hard  grafting  was  a  thing  of  the 
past.  How  easy  it  is  to  be  a  salesman  when  you  have  some- 
thing good  to  sell!  Buying  and  selling  is  easy  when  you  learn 
how.  I  had  been  put  onto  a  good  thing  and  I  stayed  with  it.  I 
had  the  gumption  to  know  a  good  thing  when  I  saw  it. 

Gussie,  you  did  me  a  good  turn  even  though  you  did  sting 


121 

me  a  little!  If  I  should  meet  thee,  after  long  years,  how  shall 
I  greet  thee?  With  a  kick  in  the  pants,  but  only  in  fun. 

I  got  on  quickly  and  famously  now.  I  did  not  have  to  lay 
off  here  and  there  a  few  days  to  earn  money  enough  to  pay 
expenses,  but  could  pay  as  I  went  along  and  lost  no  time. 
How  comforting  and  pleasant  that  was!  No  'boes  would  rob 
me  of  the  signs  for  what  good  were  the  signs  to  them?  They 
would  have  been  unable  to  sell  them.  Thus,  the  signs  were 
better  than  money  in  my  purse,  for  the  profits  on  the  sale  of 
one  or  two  of  them  would  procure  me  the  price  of  a  day's 
victuals.  I  was  care-free  now,  happy  as  a  lark  and  asked 
favors  of  no  one.  Why  did  I  not  get  on  to  such  a  fine  scheme 
before?  I  did  not  know  enough,  that's  all. 

The  signs  that  went  the  best,  were,  "Our  trusting  depart- 
ment is  on  the  roof,  take  the  elevator,"  and  "Every  time  you 
take  a  drink  things  look  different."  These  two  signs  invariably 
created  a  laugh,  and  the  latter  one  was  interpreted  by  dif- 
ferent people  in  different  ways.  Some  people— women — took 
a  bad  meaning  out  of  it  and  laughed  to  split  their  sides,  but 
I  couldn't  see  anything  funny  about  it.  However,  if  you  want 
to  do  business  with  people  put  them  in  good  humor,  and  make 
them  laugh;  then  you  are  almost  sure  to  sell  them  some- 
thing. That  was  my  experience.  I  let  people  laugh  and  be 
happy  and  laughed  with  them.  No  one  ever  fired  me  out  of 
their  place  for  being  too  fresh,  although  I  laughed  too  loud 
sometimes  and  talked  too  much.  I  did  like  to  get  in  among 
the  people,  though,  to  see  them,  to  talk  to  them  and  to  study 
their  ways.  It  was  an  education  to  me  and  a  profitable  one, 
too. 

I  got  along  over  the  road  very  fast  now.  Before  many 
days  had  elapsed  I  had  traversed  the  whole  of  Wyoming  and 
then  I  got  to  Nebraska.  I  stopped  between  trains  in  such 
towns,  as  Sydney,  Julesburg,  North  Platte,  Kearney,  Grand 
Island,  Fremont,  etc.,  and  from  the  latter  place  I  performed 
a  daring  feat  one  night. 

Fremont  is  on  the  eastern  border  of  Nebraska,  not  very 
far  from  the  state  line,  which  is  formed  by  the  Big  Muddy — 


122 

the  Missouri  River.  On  its  border  lies  Omaha,  and  opposite 
is  Council  Bluffs,  the  end  of  the  Union  Pacific  railroad 
division.  I  was  anxious  to  get  to  Council  Bluffs  that  night, 
nor  did  I  care  how  I  got  there  so  that  I  did  get  there. 

I  waited  until  after  dark  in  Fremont  and  then  jumped  a 
passenger  train  as  she  drew  out  from  the  station.  I  swung 
on  to  the  platform  of  the  last  coach,  and  then  climbed  on 
top  of  it  where  I  lay  down  and  was  whisked  along  at  a  lively 
rate.  A  keen  night-wind  soon  began  to  blow,  and  finally  blew 
so  strong  that  I  positively  could  not  stand  it.  It  went  through 
me  like  a  knife  and  searched  my  very  vitals.  I  became  numb 
and  was  in  danger  of  rolling  off,  so  I  concluded  to  climb  down. 
This  was  no  easy'  task.  Finally  I  accomplished  it  and  went 
inside  the  car  where  I  sat  down  in  a  vacant  seat  near  the 
door. 

Bye-and-bye  when  the  conductor  came  through  the  train 
for  tickets  I  concluded  it  was  about  time  for  me  to  hit  the  roof 
again.  I  leisurely  walked  out  of  the  door  and  climbed  on  top 
of  the  car  again,  and  after  the  conductor  had  made  his  rounds, 
down  I  came  and  again  seated  myself  in  the  coach.  One  or  two 
of  the  passengers  suspected  me  and  one  of  them,  a  young  woman 
with  a  baby  in  her  arms,  informed  the  conductor  about  me. 
He  came  out  on  to  the  platform,  spied  me  on  the  roof  and 
told  me  sternly  to  come  off  the  perch.  I  obeyed  promptly. 
He  told  me  to  precede  him  through  the  train,  to  the  baggage 
car.  I  obeyed  orders  (had  to  in  fact)  for  the  conductor  was 
right  behind  me.  When  I  got  into  the  baggage  car  the  con- 
ductor told  the  crew  what  I  had  been  doing  and  asked  them 
what  had  best  be  done  with  me? 

"Fire  him  off!"  exclaimed  a  baggageman. 

"Knock  his  block  off!"  cried  a  husky-looking  brakeman. 

"Beat  him  to  a  frazzle,"  suggested  another  baggageman. 

I  shivered  with  apprehension.  I  had  run  up  against  a 
cruel  crowd.  I  thought  my  time  had  come. 

"What  have  you  got  in  that  bundle,  there?"  asked  the 
conductor,  pointing  to  the  newspaper  in  which  my  signs  were 
wrapped  up,  and  which  I  carried  under  my  arm. 


123 

"Signs,  sir,  which  I  am  selling  to  help  pay  my  way." 

The  conductor  and  crew  examined  the  signs.  Then  they 
consulted,  and  finally  the  conductor  said:  "I'm  going  to  let 
you  off  easy,  this  time.  When  the  whistle  blows  for  the  next 
stop,  you  jump  off  in  a  hurry.  If  I  catch  you  on  here  after 
that,  it'll  go  pretty  hard  with  you." 

"All  right,"  answered  I  timidly. 

Accordingly,  when  the  train  slacked  up  I  jumped  off  on 
an  ash-heap  and  lit  right  side  up  with  care.  This  happened 
on  the  west  side  of  the  Missouri  River  not  far  from  Omaha, 
so  I  walked  into  Omaha  and  got  there  about  midnight.  It 
was  a  cold  hike. 

When  I  got  into  Omaha  I  bought  a  hot  drink  in  the  first 
saloon  I  came  to  and  then  hit  the  hay  for  the  night. 

Iowa  is  another  wide  state,  a  little  wider  even  than 
Nebraska,  and  it  took  me  nearly  a  week  to  traverse  it,  trav- 
eling day  time  and  night  time.  When  you  are  in  a  swiftly- 
moving  train  the  distances  out  West  seem  great  enough,  but 
when  you  are  beating  it  on'  a  slow  one  they  seem  endless. 
Hundreds  of  miles  is  a  long  stretch,  but  when  you  are  crossing 
states  every  one  of  which  is  hundreds  of  miles  wide,  the 
travel  grows  very  monotonous  and  wearisome,  and  you  are 
not  very  sorry  when  your  destination  is  reached.  That  is 
how  I  felt.  It  seemed  to  me  to  be  a  coon's  age  since  I  had 
left  Frisco,  and  I  was  now  but  little  more  than  half  way  across 
the  continent.  This  blooming  continent  of  ours  is  a  big  one, 
believe  me,  and  if  you  don't  believe  me,  just  you  beat  your 
way  across  it  and  find  out  for  yourself. 

I  was  now  nearing  Chicago,  and  the  spell  of  the  big  city 
was  coming  over  me.  I  imagined  it  would  not  be  a  bad  plan 
if  I  remained  in  the  Windy  City  a  few  days  to  rest  up  and 
recuperate.  Chicago  is  full  of  theatres  and  amusement  places 
and  a  fellow  can  have  lots  of  fun  if  he  knows  where  to  look 
for  it.  I  had  been  there  before  and  was  fairly  well  acquainted. 

I  landed  in  the  burg  in  good  shape  one  beautiful  spring 
evening,  and  after  disposing  of  a  hearty  supper,  put  in  a 


124 

pleasant  evening.  The  next  morning,  bright  and  early  I 
started  out  selling  signs. 

The  one  that  went  best  was  ''Every  time  you  take  a  drink 
things  look  different,"  which  went  fairly  well  in  -the  saloons, 
but  the  Chicago  saloon-keepers  were  a  cheap  lot  who  tried 
to  beat  me  down  in  the  price.  They  offered  me  ten  cents 
for  the  sign,  saying  that  twenty-five  cents  was  too  much.  Not 
a  few  declined  to  buy  unless  I  came  down  in  the  price.  This 
I  would  not  do^  Some  people  like  to  see  all  the  money  come 
their  way;  they  hate  to  see  it  go  from  them.  It  seems  a  pain- 
ful operation  to  some  people  to  part  with  money.  Consid- 
ering, though,  I  did  fairly  well. 

Although  I  was  peddling  without  a  license  no  one  held 
me  up,  for  I  was  trying  to  earn  an  honest  living.  I  was  not 
selling  anything  that  would  take  the  bread  and  butter  out  of 
anyone's  mouth. 

I  happened  to  get  into  Clark  street — the  upper  or  lower 
end  of  it,  which  ever  it  may  be  termed — along  which,  on  both 
sides  of  the  street,  there  are  clothing  stores  conducted  by 
Hebrews.  Any  stranger  who  goes  through  that  street  has  to 
run  the  gauntlet  of  their  fire,  for  the  owners  of  the  stores,  or 
pullers-in,  stand  outside  and  coax  or  drag  one  in.  It  is  diffi- 
cult to  resist  them  for  they  are  awfully  persistent.  One  fel- 
low grabbed  me  and  said  "can't  I  sell  you  a  nice  suit  of  clothes 
today?"  I  answered  him  that  I  was  broke,  but  he  wouldn't 
believe  me.  Evidently  he  had  heard  such  tales  before.  I 
told  him  that  I  was  peddling  signs,  grafting  myself,  and  that 
I  was  a  poor  chap.  "What  kind  of  signs?"  asked  the  mer- 
chant; "let  me  see  dem!" 

I  went  in  and  showed  him  the  signs.  He  looked  over  them 
carefully,  but  would  not  buy  one. 

"Say,  let  me  show  you  ah  fine  suit  ah  clothes,1'  said  he; 
ah  got  here  ah  fine  suit  for  five  dollars;  for  five  dollars;  tink 
of  dot!" 

"I  ain't  got  no  five  dollars,"  retorted  I. 

"What  size  do  you  wear?"  persisted  the  merchant. 


125 

"Damifino,"  said  I.  "It's  a  long  time  since  I  bought  any 
clothes." 

"I  kin  see  dot;  dot's  why  I  want  to  sell- you  some.  Here's 
somedings  fine,  und  only  five  dollars  to  you,  because  you  are 
a  poor  man.  Lay  down  your  bundle  und  look  at  der  goots!" 

I  gently  deposited  my  bundle  containing  the  signs  on  top 
of  a  pile  of  clothing  where  I  could  keep  my  eye  on  them,  and 
examined  the  clothes.  They  looked  good  enough,  but  would 
they  wear? 

"Dry  'em  on!     dry  'em  on!"  ordered  the  boss. 

"Oh,  what's  the  use  trying  'em  on?  I  haven't  got  money 
enough  to  buy  'em." 

"How  much  have  you  got?" 

It  was  none  of  his  business,  so  I  cocked  up  my  chin 
aggresively  and  asked  him  "what  would  you  give  to  know?" 

"Come  now,  partner;  I  know  you  like  dot  suit;  I  vill  let 
me  you  haf  it  for  $4.50." 

"Nothing  doing;  I  ain't  a  going  to  buy  any  clothes  today, 
so  there's  no  use  of  you  wasting  your  time. 

He  saw  that  he  was  not  going  to  make  a  sale  so  he  got 
thundering  mad  and  shouted,  "get  out  of  here,  you  dirty, 
lousy  tramp  or  I  trow  you  out!" 

"Throw  out  nothing!  You  couldn't  throw  out  one  side 
of  me,  you  thieving  sheeny,"  yelled  I.  thoroughly  exasperated. 

"You  want  to  fight  mit  me,  you  loafer  you?  You  better 
get  out  right  away  quick  before  I  trow  you  out." 

I  shed  my  coat  and  told  him  to  come  on.  He  called  to 
some  one  in  the  back  room  so  I  thought  discretion  the  better 
part  of  valor.  I  put  on  my  coat  again,  grabbed  up  my  bundle 
of  signs  and  skipped  out,  the  merchant  and  I  telling  each 
other  as  I  went  out  what  we  thought  of  each,  in  pretty  loud 
language. 

Further  down  the  street  some  more  pullers-in  grabbed 
me  but  I  broke  away  from  them,  and  told  them  to  go  to  a  spot 
a  few  degrees  warmer  than  Chicago. 

It  was  the  Michigan  Central  that  had  the  honor  to  gently 
waft  me  out  of  Chicago,  and  she  used  to  be  a  pretty  hard 


126 

old  road  to  beat  before  the  New  York  Central  got  a  hold  of 
it,  but  I  had  no  trouble  this  time. 

I  jumped  the  -blind  baggage  on  a  passenger  train  one 
beautiful  night  and  rode  as  far  as  Detroit  without  getting  put 
off,  and  when  the  train  was  rolled  upon  a  huge  ferry-boat  that 
took  her  across  the  Detroit  River  to  Windsor,  Canada,  I  went 
inside  a  coach  like  a  regular  passenger  and  never  batted  an 
eye.  A  fellow  can  soon  learn  how  to  do  things  if  he  keeps 
his  wits  about  him  and  his  ears  and  eyes  open. 

At  Windsor  I  jumped  the  "blind"  again  and  then  rode 
through  a  foreign  country — Canada.  The  soil  and  country 
looks  the  same  in  Canada  as  it  does  in  the  United  States, 
but  everything  else  seems  different.  The  railroad  cars  are 
different,  and  so  are  the  engines,  the  stations,  and  everything 
else  about  the  railroads.  The  Canadian  people  dress  different, 
talk  different,  act  different  and  are  different  in  every  way 
from  United  States  folks,  and  the  same  may  be  said  of  the 
ladies,  who  are  mighty  nice,  I  think.  They  are  prim,  though, 
and  will  not  flirt. 

I  enjoyed  my  ride  through  Canada  very  much,  and  not 
many  hours  afterward  my  train  slowly  rumbled  across  the 
Suspension  Bridge  at  Niagara  Falls.  As  I  shall  have  a  whole 
lot  to  say  about  Niagara  Falls  I  will  devote  a  chapter  to  it. 


CHAPTER  IX. 
NIAGARA    FALLS. 

A  lady  with  poetry  in  her  soul,  when  she  first  saw  Niagara 
Falls  and  the  country  around  it,  declared  that  it  seemed  to 
her  like  the  world's  end,  and  her  feeling  was  justified,  for 
nature  does  seem  chaotic  around  there. 

In  the  vicinity  of  the  Falls  there  are  whirlpools,  eddying 
waters,  steep  and  broken  banks,  the  thunder  of  falling  waters, 
high  ascending  mists  and  other  things  that  seem  uncanny. 
One  will  see  no  such  things  anywhere  else,  the  wide  world 
over.  Everything  does  seem  crude  and  chaotic,  as  if  nature 
had  been  broken  off  there  by  some  great  forces  but  it  was 
done  gradually  in  the  long  ago.  It  was  an  irresistible  stream 
of  water,  the  Niagara  River,  that  performed  all  the  miracles. 

There  is  a  city  at  the  falls  called  Niagara  Falls,  which 
contains,  I  should  judge,  from  forty  to  fifty  thousand  inhabi- 
tants, and  a  lively  and  beautiful  place  it  is.  It  is  full  of  large 
and  elegant  stores,  curio  shops,  candy  booths,  fine  bakeries, 
rooming-houses,  hotels,  restaurants,  trolley  lines  that  will 
take  one  around  the  Falls  for  a  dollar,  Ferris  wheels,  shoot- 
the-chutes,  hit-the-nigger-in-the-head  booths,  shooting  galleries, 
clam  chowder  places,  hot-dog  emporiums,  candy  booths,  man- 
ufacturing establishments,  fine  drives,  walks  and  many  other 
attractions  too  numerous  to  mention.  Fakers  are  there,  too, 
in  unlimited  quantities,  and  if  you  have  plenty  of  money  in 
your  purse  they  will  come  pretty  near  getting  some  of  it. 

Niagara  River  is  a  stream  about  half  a  mile  wide,  in  parts 
it  is  very  deep  and  it  is  about  100  miles  long.  It  connects 
Lake  Erie  with  Lake  Ontario.  As  all  the  Great  Lakes  are 
connected — Lakes  Superior,  Huron,  Michigan,  Ontario,  Erie, 
Georgian  Bay,  etc.,  their  waters  ever  flow  so  that  the  Niagara 


128 

River  never  could  run  dry.  It  starts  at  Buffalo  and  runs  on 
for  twenty-five  miles  or  so  until  it  reaches  the  vicinity  of  the 
Falls,  where  a  change  comes  over  the  scene.  Its  deep  and 
swift-flowing  waters  then  are  divided  by  an  island — Goat 
Island — along  either  side  of  which  the  narrowed  channels 
rush  with  the  speed  of  an  express  train,  the  waters  leaping 
over  boulders  and  huge  rocks  in  a  mad  way,  hissing,  foaming, 
boiling,  whirling  and  roaring  at  a  rate  to  render  one  deaf, 
dumb  and  blind,  almost.  Throw  anything  into  these  waters 
and  it  will  be  carried  off  so  quick  that  you  can  scarce  see  it 
go. 

Near  Goat  Island  where  the  river  is  divided  there  is  a 
hill  about  160  feet  'deep  down  which  the  whole  river  half  a 
mile  in  width  tumbles,  and  this  constitutes  the  Palls.  Think 
of  it!  A  broad  and  deep  river,  half  a  mile  wide,  tumbling 
down  a  steep  hill-side.  An  ordinary  house  when  sixty  feet 
high  looks  mighty  high  to  you  when  you  look  up  at  it;  double 
that  height  and  add  forty  feet  to  it  and  you  will  get  some  idea 
what  a  height  of  160  feet  means.  Imagine  a  whole  river  half 
a  mile  wide  tumbling  down  such  a  height  at  once  and  then 
you  will  get  an  idea  what  Niagara  Falls  are  like.  The  mass 
of  water  is  so  tremendous  that  when  it  strikes  the  rocks 
below,  it  makes  a  noise  as  of  an  awful  loud  thunder,  which 
can  be  heard  miles  away,  and  the  mists  that  arise  from  the 
thundering  fallen  waters  ascend  hundreds  of  feet  into  the  air 
and  can  be  seen  a  long  distance  off.  What  one  sees  and  hears 
fills  one  with  awe,  and  one  wonders  at  the  sublimity  of  God. 

At  either  shore  of  the  river  are  high  bluffs  that  look  down 
to  the  bottom  of  the  hill  where  the  waters  have  fallen;  and 
these  bluffs,  both  on  the  Canadian  and  American  side  have 
been  transformed  into  delightful  parks  wherein  are  benches 
and  sequestered  nooks  from  which  one  can  comfortably 
view  the  Falls. 

By  far  the  better  view  of  the  Falls  can  be  obtained  from 
the  Canadian  side  of  the  river,  for  there  the  Niagara  River 
is  deepest  and  the  volume  of  its  waters  that  descend,  greatest. 
As  you  walk  leisurely  along  in  the  pretty  park  on  the  Cana- 


129 

dian  side,  views  will  unfold  themselves  to  your  gaze  that  will 
entrance  you.  Words  cannot  describe  them.  It  is  no  wonder 
that  people  travel  from  remote  countries  to  see  such  a  won- 
derful sight.  There  are  higher  falls  than  Niagara  but  none 
that  have  such  a  volume  of  water. 

After  the  river  has  taken  its  involuntary  and  tremendous 
leap  over  the  Falls  it  flows  on  placidly  enough  between  lofty 
cliffs  that  are  nearly  200  feet  high.  A  mile  or  so  below  the 
Falls  it  strikes  what  is  called  The  Lower  Rapids,  where  again 
there  is  a  tremendous  turmoil  of  waters  which  leap  over  rocks 
and  other  obstructions,  forming  whirlpools,  eddies,  rapids  and 
other  disturbances  that  are  strange  to  witness.  Along  here 
there  is  a  gorge  through  which  the  force  of  the  river  has  cut 
a  passage  and  a  line  of  trolley  cars  will  take  one  along  on 
top  of  it  for  a  small  consideration.  One  can  go  by  trolley,  too, 
to  Lewiston  and  other  historic  places  along  the  river,  clear 
to  the  shores  of  Lake  Ontario.  There  one  can  take  passage 
on  a  lake  steamer  for  points  in  Canada. 

Goat  Island,  which  lies  between  Buffalo  and  about  a  mile 
above  the  Falls,  is  a  pretty  little  isle  a  mile  or  two  in  circum- 
ference containing  trees,  'bushes  and  jungle,  and  at  almost 
every  turn  it  affords  romantic  views  of  the  Niagara  River. 
The  scenery  is  wild  and  pretty.  Along  the  high  banks  of 
the  river,  near  the  Falls  on  the  American  side,  extends  a  gov- 
ernment reservation  called  Prospect  Park,  which  is  a  natural 
forest  somewhat  improved  artifically  by  well  constructed 
walks,  drives,  refreshment  and  other  public  buildings.  This 
is  a  favorite  playground  of  the  people.  It  is  used  as  a  picnic 
and  pleasure  ground  and  it  is  well  patronized  at  all  seasons 
of  the  year,  but  especially  in  the  good  old  summer  time.  There 
are  multitudes  of  visitors  at  the  Falls  at  all  times,  and  a  mil- 
lion visitors  a  year  would  be  a  low  estimate,  I  am  sure. 

There  is  a  line  of  trolley  cars  that  runs  from  Buffalo  to 
the  Falls,  a  distance  of  about  twenty-five  miles,  which 
charges  fifty  cents  for  the  round  trip.  Its  cars  are  crowded 
almost  every  day  in  the  year  and  over-crowded  on  Sundays 
and  holidays.  They  bring  vast  numbers  to  the  Falls.  There 


130 

are  various  lines  of  railroads  which  have  a  station  at  the  Falls, 
too,  and  embark  or  disembark  passengers  there.  In  fact  the 
Falls  are  never  dull  at  any  season  of  the  year,  for  there  is 
something  doing  all  the  time,  even  in  the  winter,  when  deep 
snow  lies  on  the  ground  and  the  ice  is  thick.  Then  the  Falls  are 
grandest,  some  people  say,  but  as  I  was  not  there  at  that 
time  of  the  year  I  cannot  say  as  to  this. 

I  remained  at  Niagara  a  week  and  had  a  good  time.  I 
went  to  see  the  Falls  every  day  and  they  never  failed  to  awe 
me.  I  liked  best  to  view  them  from  the  Canadian  side. 


CHAPTER  X. 
MY  BUFFALO  SWEETHEART. 

Buffalo  is  one  of  the  handsomest  cities  in  the  United 
States  and  I  will  tell  you  why  I  think  so,  so  that  you  may 
judge  for  yourself  whether  I  am  right  or  wrong. 

It  is  situated  along  the  Niagara  River  and  Lake  Erie  and 
not  so  very  far  away  from  the  Falls.  That  is  one  reason. 

Its  streets  are  broad  and  handsome,  seeming  more  like 
boulevards  than  streets,  for  there  are  double  rows  of  fine 
old  shade  trees  in  the  driveways  of  many  streets,  rows  of  old 
trees  along  the  sidewalks  on  either  side  of  the  street  and  the 
houses  are  set  in  ample  grounds  and  are  surrounded  by  trees, 
shrubs  and  flowers;  they  seem  like  mansions  set  in  parks. 
That  is  reason  number  two. 

Nearly  all  the  residence  streets  are  well-shaded,  well- 
kept  and  well-paved  and  seem  like  boulevards  rather  than 
streets,  as  I  said  before.  Delaware  avenue  in  the  summer  time 
is  more  like  the  country  than  the  city,  for  it  is  wide,  shady 
and  cool  and  one  can  scarcely  see  the  mansions  that  stand 
embowered  amid  the  trees  off  the  street. 

These  are  a  few  but  not  all  of  the  reasons  why  I  deem 
Buffalo  a  beautiful  city.  The  main  street  of  Buffalo,  called 


131 

Main  street,  divides  the  residence  from  the  business  section 
and  it  is  a  fine,  broad  thoroughfare,  miles  in  extent,  running 
from  the  beginning  of  the  city  clear  out  into  the  country.  It 
is  lined  on  either  side  by  handsome  and  substantial  business 
establishments.  Near  its  beginning,  where  the  steamboats 
have  their  landings,  and  the  railroads  their  depots,  there  are 
some  vile-looking  streets  and  evil-smelling  canals,  but  that 
is  the  only  blemish  that  I  saw  in  Buffalo. 

The  business  streets  radiating  from  Main  street  are 
quaint  and  alluring  and  not  a  few  of  them  are  well-shaded, 
too,  tall  poplar  trees  being  well  in  evidence  (and  a  straight 
and  noble  tree  the  poplar  is,  with  its  silvery,  trembling- 
leaves).  The  buildings  on  these  streets  are  of  a  unique  pat- 
tern that  one  will  not  see  elsewhere  and  they  please  the  fancy. 
Along  the  lake  front  there  are  streets  and  avenues  such  as 
Porter  avenue  that  are  charming,  and  which  afford  a  view  of 
the  boundless  waters  of  Lake  Erie.  The  waters  of  this  lake 
extend  to  the  horizon  and  one  wonders  what  is  beyond  them. 
Like  the  sea,  they  mystify  and  awe  one.  There  are  other 
cities  in  the  United  States  that  are  beautiful,  such  as  Roch- 
ester, Cleveland,  Toledo,  Dunkirk,  etc.,  but  none  that  I  have 
ever  seen  surpasses  Buffalo.  New  York  City  has  scarcely  a  tree 
in  all  its  maze  of  streets  and  is  not  beautiful.  It  cannot  be- 
gin to  compare  with  Buffalo.  This,  however,  is  a  matter  of 
taste  and  there  are  people  who  will  disagree  with  me.  I 
wish  them  a  better  taste. 

The  people  in  Buffalo  are  as  nice  as  they  can  be,  as  nice 
as  their  city  indeed,  for  they  have  the  wide  and  breezy  ways 
of  the  West  about  them,  and  are  free  and  companionable.  Prob- 
ably their  beautiful  surroundings  influence  their  disposition, 
for  environment  sometimes  does  do  that. 

Along  the  lower  part  of  Main  street  near  the  railroad 
depots  and  boat  landings,  there  are  any  number  of  restaurants, 
saloons,  fruit  and  other  stores,  and  it  was  in  that  locality 
my  signs  sold  best.  They  went  like  buckwheat  cakes  on  a 
cold  morning,  and  there  was  no  beating  down  in  the  price 
either.  The  people  were  making  money  and  were  willing 


132 

to  let  some  of  it  go.  Good  people!  Up  near  Ellicott  Square 
I  went  into  a  high  toned  candy  store  which  was  presided  over 
by  one  of  the  prettiest  blonde  girls  I  had  ever  seen.  She 
looked  over  my  signs  carefully  and  laughed  immoderately 
at  some  of  them.  I  fell  in  love  with  her  at  first  sight  and 
she  knew  it.  You  can't  fool  a  girl  very  much  in  matters  of 
that  kind.  As  there  were  no  customers  in  the  store  at  the 
time  the  young  lady  and  I  had  quite  a  chat.  She  was  slight 
and  slender,  had  golden  hair,  blue  eyes,  pretty  features  and 
a  charming  manner.  I  am  very  partial  to  blondes,  for  I  am 
a  brunette  myself,  but  I  do  not  despise  charming  girls  of  any 
complexion  or  hue.  I  introduced  myself  to  the  young  lady, 
told  her  a  great  deal  about  myself  and  begged  the  privilege 
of  taking  a  stroll  with  her  on  the  morrow,  which  luckily  hap- 
pened to  be  Sunday.  She  was  willing,  so  an  appointment 
was  made  then  and  there.  Wasn't  I  in  luck?  The  beauty's 
front  name  was  Rose,  but  what  her  last  name  is  don't  matter. 
Did  I  call  on  her?  Yes,  indeed  I  did,  and  was  well  received, 
too.  We  strolled  out  to  Porter  Park,  sat  on  a  bench  facing  the 
mysterious  waters  of  the  lake  (Erie),  and  chatted;  F  took  her 
hand  in  mine,  pressed  it,  and  took  the  liberty  to  inform  her 
that  I  loved  her.  She  did  not  get  angry;  on  the  contrary,  she 
smiled.  I  wound  my  arm  around  her  waist  and  pressed  her 
to  me.  She  must  have  liked  it  for  she  did  not  resent  it.  She 
turned  her  lips  up  to  mine  to  be  kissed,  and  they  were 
sweeter  than  honey.  How  I  did  kiss  that  girl,  how  ardent  and 
impetuous  I  became  I  am  ashamed  to  say,  but  Rose  was  game 
and  met  me  half  way.  She  seemed  to  fancy  me  all  right. 

"How  do  you  like  Buffalo?"  asked  Rose,  after  a  breathing 
spell  from  kissing  and  hugging. 

"It  is  a  grand  place,"  answered  I!  "I  would  like  to  live 
here." 

"Why  don't  you?"  asked  she. 

"How  can  I?"  asked  I;  "you  know  what  my  plans  are  and 
that  I  shall  have  to  leave  here  soon,  but  while  I  do  stay  I'd 
like  to  see  more  of  you.  May  I?" 

"Yes,"  murmured  she. 


133 

"Will  you  take  a  moonlight  ride  over  to  Crescent  Beach 
with  me  tomorrow  night?"  asked  I. 

"Yes,  I  will,"  replied  she  with  slight  hesitation. 
My  heart  fluttered  with  joy  for  Rose  was  built  just  right 
for  love,  for  though  a  Venus  of  a  fragile  sort,  yet  she  was 
strong  and  could  he  as  tender  as  strong.     Ours  was  a  case 
of  Venus  and  Adonis,  only  I  am  not  an  Adonis. 

Fair  Rose  and  I  found  love  to  be  as  sweet  as  X^enus  and 
Adonis  ever  did,  and  we  met  as  often  as  we  could.  We  went 
over  to  Crescent  Beach  on  a  cosy  little  lake  steamer — fare 
twenty-five  cents  the  round  trip — and  sought  out  the  darkest 
corner  of  the  boat,  where  we  made  love  to  our  heart's  content, 
but  our  hearts  never  were  contented  for  we  would  be  hand- 
in-hand,  ogling  and  kissing  each  other  all  the  time.  We 
never  tired  of  the  exercise.  Let  me  say  right  here,  though, 
that  Rosie  was  a  virtuous  girl  and  would  not  permit  me  to 
take  any  liberties  with  her.  For  this  I  loved  her  all  the  more. 
She  was  a  sweet  and  tender  girl,  and,  ye  Gods!  how  she  did 
love  to  be  hugged  and  kissed!  Finally  she  gave  me  a  few 
kisses  in  return.  How  modest  and  sweet  they  were!  There 
surely  is  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life  as  love's  young  dream. 
It  is  a  glimpse  of  heaven,  of  pure  and  unadulterated  bliss!  Its 
joys  are  sweeter  than  any  other — ecstatic. 

The  dear  girl  and  I  met  as  often  as  possible  and  tiiat  was 
every  evening,  for  we  were  both  at  work  during  the  day, 
Rose  in  the  candy  store  and  I  at  sign  selling.  It  was  an  awful 
wrench  for  us  to  part  but  it  had  to  be  done  finally.  The  last 
evening  we  were  together  I  said  to  Rose,  "we  shall  have  to 
part  tomorrow,  sweetheart." 

"Oh,  don't  go;  don't  leave  me?"  implored  the  girl  with 
tears  in  her  eyes. 

"You  know  I  must  go;  I  hate  to  leave  you  but  duty 
compels  me." 

Rose  snivelled  and  I  felt  like  crying  myself,  but  I  could 
not  do  so. 

"I'll  come  to  see  you  when  I  return  from  the  old  country. 
I  suppose  you'll  be  right  here  in  Buffalo.  I'll  tell  the  conductor 


134 

to  'put  me  off  at  Buffalo',"  said  I,  repeating  the  words  of  a 
song  well  known  to  many,  in  a  sort  of  jocular  way.  Many 
endearing  things  did  I  say  to  the  sweet  girl,  and  amid  tears, 
hugs  and  kisses,  we  parted. 


CHAPTER  XI. 
NEW   YORK   CITY. 

New  York  got  my  goat.  It  has  millions  of  inhabitants 
but  it  is  about  as  lonely  a  city  as  you  will  find  the  world  over 
if  you  have  no  friends  there.  The  people  are  all  so  busy 
trying  to  get  along,  to  make  both  ends  meet,  that  they  have 
little  time  to  talk  to  you  or  to  care  much  about  you.  Each 
for  himself  and  the  devil  for  all,  seems  to  be  the  prevailing 
way  of  feeling  there,  though  the  people  are  by  no  means 
heartless.  It  is  just  their  way.  There  are  other  places  Ifke 
New  York  in  that  respect. 

I  landed  in  the  Grand  Central  Depot,  Forty-second  street 
and  Fourth  avenue,  when  I  struck  New  York,  and  as  soon  as 
I  stuck  my  nose  out  of  the  depot  I  felt  that  I  had  landed  in 
a  frigid  town.  A  crowd  of  people  rushed  one  way  and  a  big- 
ger crowd  the  other  way,  making  a  fellow  wonder  where  they 
all  came  from  and  where  they  were  going.  Some  entered 
cabs  and  were  driven  away;  others  entered  street  cars,  and 
not  a  few  walked.  I  walked. 

Every  one  of  the  crowd  seemed  to  know  where  he  or  she 
was  going,  but  I  did  not,  for  I  was  a  stranger  in  the  city  and 
knew  not  which  way  to  go.  I  stood  on  the  broad  plaza  in  front 
of  the  railroad  depot  for  a  few  moments  kind  of  bewildered 
and  not  knowing  which  way  to  turn. 

As  my  means  were  limited  I  could  not  afford  to  mix  in 
with  rich  people,  so  I  wondered  which  direction  to  take  to  get 
where  people  of  my  own  class  lived.  I  did  not  like  to  stop 
any  one  to  ask  questions  for  the  very  look  they  gave  me  as 


135 

they   passed,   hinted  that  they  had   not  the   time  to   answer 
questions.    I  did  not  like  to  take  the  chances  of  being  snubbed. 

"Chicago  is  kind  of  a  cold  place,  Windy,  but  this  place  has 
got  it  skinned,"  said  I  to  myself.  ''You've  run  up  against  a 
cold  crowd.  This  will  have  to  be  your  abiding  place  for 
awhile,  though,  old  man,  so,  you  might  as  well  try  to  make 
the  best  of  it.  Keep  your  eyes  and  ears  open  and  keep  mum." 
These  were  some  of  my  thoughts  but  not  all. 

I  strolled  down  Fourth  avenue  to  Thirty-fourth  street,  but 
everything  looked  far  too  swell  for  a  poor  son-of-a-gun  like 
me.  "You're  out  of  your  beat,  Windy;  get  off  it!"  says  I.  I 
walked  down  Thirty-fourth  street  to  Eighth  avenue,  and  as 
Eighth  avenue  did  not  seem  to  be  as  swell  as  some  of  the 
other  streets  I  had  passed,  I  walked  along  this  avenue  north- 
ward. Both  sides  of  this  thoroughfare  were  wriggling  and 
squirming  with  people,  and  such  crowds  I  never  saw  before. 
Although  the  sidewalks  were  broad,  there  was  hardly  elbow- 
room  for  the  throngs  which  were  traveling  in  both  directions. 
Did  you  ever  disturb  an  ant  hill  and  see  how  the  little  crea- 
tures rushed  back  and  forth  in  masses?  That  is  how  the 
masses  of  people  on  Eighth  avenue  seemed  to  me.  There 
never  was  an  ant  hill,  though  that  contained  a  tithe  of  the 
number  of  creatures  that  Eighth  avenue  did. 

I  mixed  with  the  push  and  wended  my  way  slowly  up-town, 
taking  in  the  sights  as  I  walked.  All  the  people  seemed  well- 
dressed,  in  a  metropolitan  style  of  their  own,  and  walked 
along  without  deigning  to  glance  at  one,  hardly.  They  seemed 
intent  and  distant.  In  the  midst  of  no  throng  did  I  ever  feel 
so  lonely. 

Eighth  avenue  is  built  up  solidly  for  miles  with  brick  or 
stone  structures  that  are  three  or  four  stories  in  height  and 
have  rather  an  old-time  and  old-fashioned  appearance.  Nearly 
every  structure  consists  of  a  basement,  or  cellar,  with  a  store 
above  it  on  the  ground-floor,  and  above  the  store,  dwelling 
apartments. 

The  stores  are  fitted  up  fine  and  the  show  windows  allur- 
ingly. All  the  show  windows  are  crammed  with  goods  labeled 


13G 

enticingly  to  coax  the  money  out  of  one's  pocket  and  it  is 
awful  hard  to  resist.  The  bakeries  allure  one  and  so  do  the 
candy  stores,  the  delicatessen  stores,  the  groceries,  the  dry 
goods,  hat,  boot  and  shoe,  clothing  and  other  stores.  Had  I 
had  plenty  of  money  in  my  purse,  it  would  have  been  awfully 
hard  to  keep  it  there.  Oh,  those  candy  stores,  those  bakeries, 
those  delicatessen  stores!  How  my  teeth  did  water  as  I 
threw  a  fleeting  glance  into  them;  but  the  mob,  biast  it, 
wouldn't  give  me  a  chance  to  stop  'and  look.  I  had  to  keep 
a  moving  or  else  be  shoved  or  elbowed  aside. 

Above  Forty-second  (and  below  it,  too),  I  came  upon  the 
"Coon"  section  of  New  York,  and  there  I  saw  more  "culled 
pussons"  to  the  inch  than  I  had  ever  seen  to  the  mile  any- 
where else.  Chicago  is  the  proud  possessor  of  a  few  coons, 
but  it  seems  to  me  that  there  are  a  hundred  in  New  York 
to  ten  in  "Chi."  Coons  till  you  can't  rest  on  Eighth  avenue, 
whichever  way  you  turn,  and  every  mother's  son  and  daugh- 
ter of  them  is  dressed  to  kill,  and  feels  in  every  way 
superior  to  "de  white  trash,"  whom  they  look  down  on.  Do 
you  think  a  black  lady  or  "gemmen"  will  step  aside  for  you  on 
Eighth  avenue?  Not  much.  It  is  for  you  to  step  aside,  and  if 
you  do  not  you  will  be  elbowed. 

It  makes  one  stare  to  see  the  style  some  of  th^se  colored 
people  put  on,  and  I  wondered  where  all  the  money  came  from 
to  feed  and  clothe  them.  Many  of  the  stores  along  the  ave- 
nue cater  to  the  darky  trade,  and  few  of  them  turn  it  down. 
Some  white  restaurants  are  patronized  wholly  by  coons  and 
do  a  roaring  trade. 

I  was  getting  tired  by  this  time  and  hungry  and  thirsty 
as  well,  so  I  concluded  to  seek  out  some  restaurant  or  a 
saloon.  I  concluded  that  a  saloon  would  be  the  best  place 
for  me,  for  there  I  could  eat,  drink  and  rest. 

It  did  not  take  me  long  to  find  a  saloon  for  they  are  thick 
enough  on  Eighth  avenue,  and  I  noticed  one  at  a  corner  which 
had  gaudy  and  elaborate  signs  over  it,  a  highly  artistic  front 
of  plate  and  cut-glass,  and  brightly  painted  panels,  etc.  I 
stepped  in  and  found  myself  in  a  large  apartment  that  had  a 


137 

marble  floor,  elaborately  carved  counters,  recherche  glass- 
ware on  a  back-bar;  opposite  the  bar  there  was  a  long  counter 
which  was  covered  with  a  handsome  white  table  cloth  on 
which  stood  huge  bowls  containing  bread,  cheese,  tripe, 
bologna  and  other  kinds  of  sausage;  clams,  steaming  soups, 
radishes,  pickles,  etc.,  a  layout  to  make  a  hungry  man's  teeth 
water. 

I  valiantly  strode  up  to  the  bar  and  to  the  bartender 
murmured,  "a  schooner,  please!"  Like  a  flash  the  bartender 
set  a  huge  glass  of  foaming,  sparkling  beer  before  me.  It 
looked  good  to  me.  The  price  was  only  five  cents — cheap  as 
water,  almost. 

I  walked  over  to  the  free  lunch  counter  slowly  and  delib- 
erately, grabbed  a  fist-full  of  cheese  and  some  bread  and  then 
walked  back  to  my  beer  where  I  slowly  ate  and  drank.  Then 
I  carried  my  beer  over  to  the  lunch  counter  and  I  tackled 
everything  on  the  bill  of  fare  in  turn,  and  not  in  such  very 
small  quantities  either.  The  beer  tasted  so  delicious  that  I 
ordered  another  schooner  and  at  the  same  time  I  paid  my 
very  best  respects  to  the  lunch  counter.  I  ate  so  much  that 
I  began  to  bloat  and  became  ashamed  of  myself.  For  ten 
cents  I  ate  and  drank  as  much  as  I  could  hold.  After  I  had 
eaten  and  drank  I  pulled  forth  my  pipe,  loaded  her  up  and 
went  into  the  rear  room  where  I  sat  down,  rested  and  smoked. 
I  did  not  care  to  look  at  a  newspaper  just  then,  although 
there  were  plenty  of  them  there  for  the  use  of  patrons.  It 
was  astonishing  to  see  the  business  done  in  this  establishment. 
The  swinging  doors  were  never  still  a  moment,  for  there 
were  people  constantly  passing  in  and  out.  Several  bar- 
keepers were  kept  on  the  jump  behind  the  bar  and  the  free 
lunch  counter  attendant  had  all  he  could  attend  to,  dealing 
out  soup  and  clams,  and  replenishing  empty  dishes. 

Truly  it  was  a  rare  study  in  human  nature  to  watch  the 
throngs  in  this  place  but  not  an  edifying  one  by  any  means, 
for  the  majority  of  the  patrons  of  the  place  were  loafers, 
bums,  tough-nuts  and  criminals.  It  did  not  take  me  long  to 
find  that  out,  for  the  manner,  ways  and  speech  of  these  people 


138 

revealed  their  disposition.  Tough-nuts  they  were,  nearly  all 
of  them,  and  many  of  them  Tenth  avenue  loafers  at  that — very 
hard  citizens. 

After  I  had  rested  sufficiently  I  emerged  from  the  drink 
palace  and  strolled  further  up  the  Avenue  toward  Central 
Park.  After  walking  a  few  blocks  a  fearful  thirst  assailed 
me  and  I  began  to  spit  cotton.  I  tried  to  figure  out  what 
had  come  over  me  and  concluded  it  must  have  been  the  free 
lunch,  which  had  been  well  salted.  I  concluded  to  quench  my 
abnormal  thirst  with  an  ice  cream  soda.  That  is  not  a  bad 
remedy  for  such  a  malady.  Into  a  palatial  candy  store  I  stepped 
where  ice  cream  and  soda  were  on  tap  at  all  hours  of  the 
day  and  far  into  the^  night.  There  I  had  a  huge  schooner  of 
ice  cream  soda  for  only  five  cents.  My,  it  was  delicious!  A 
fellow  can  live  like  a  fighting-cock  in  New  York  for  little  or 
no  money,  and  maybe  that  is  why  such  multitudes  are  content 
to  abide  there  and  could  not  be  driven  out  of  it.  There  one 
can  get  the  best  of  everything  at  a  low  price.  This  fact 
explains  much — means  volumes.  That  is  why  New  York  is 
such  an  over-grown  place,  maybe. 

I  walked  up  to  Central  Park,  which  is  a  world-famous 
pleasure  ground  about  two  and  a  half  miles  long  by  about  a 
mile  wide,  and  near  its  Eighth  avenue  entrance  sat  down  on 
a  bench  to  rest  and  to  view  the  passing  throngs.  Carriages, 
automobiles  and  all  kinds  of  vehicles  rolled  by  and  the  paths 
were  thronged  with  pedestrians.  The  people  were  of  all 
nationalities;  and  such  a  well-dressed  mob  it  was!  No  one 
looked  shabby,  for  every  one  put  on  a  front  of  some  kind, 
and  some  put  on  a  whole  lot  of  it,  too.  You'd  think  they  were 
millionaires,  to  see  them,  but  maybe  they  were  only  waiters 
or  dish-washers.  It  don't  cost  much  to  put  on  style  in  New 
York  City,  apparently,  for  a  little  money  can  be  made  to  go  a 
long  way,  and  a  whole  lot  of  credit  is  probably  extended. 

It  is  easy  to  live  in  New  York  if  you  know  how,  but  how 
some  people  live  is  a  mystery  known  only  to  themselves. 
These  were  some  of  the  thoughts  that  flitted  through  my  brain 
as  I  sat  and  observed  the  passing  crowd  in  vehicles  and  afoot. 


139 

A  good  many  of  the  "pedustrians"  (as  I  heard  a  darky  call 
pedestrians)  were  "on  the  mash,"  that  is  to  say,  they  were 
in  the  park  "to  pick-up  something,"  as  they  termed  it,  in  the 
shape  of  an  affinity.  There  were  plenty  of  both  sexes  to 
pick-up  and  to  be  picked-up.  The  New  Yorkers  are  on  to 
themselves  and  know  how  many  beans  make  five. 


CHAPTER  XII. 
HENRIETTA. 

Byron  in  his  Hebrew  Melodies  has  said  that: 

"She  walks  in  beauty,  like  the  night 
Of  cloudless  climes  and  starry  skies — " 

What  beautiful  thoughts  these  are  and  how  charmingly 
expressed!  Byron's  thoughts — at  least  some  of  them — are 
like  diamonds;  they  sparkle  and  scintillate  in  a  manner  to 
dazzle  the  beholder.  This  matchless  poet  has  described  in 
verse,  scenes  of  Italy,  Greece,  Spain  and  other  countries  in 
a  manner  that  no  other  writer  has  surpassed,  even  in  prose, 
for  more  beautiful  language  never  was  written.  Take  the 
single  line  "cloudless  climes  and  starry  skies."  What  a  world 
of  meaning  and  description  it  implies!  In  a  truthful  and  com- 
prehensive  way  it  fairly  describes  Austria,  Italy,  Greece, 
Turkey,  Spain,  Florida,  California  and  other  semi-tropicaJ 
climes  where  the  skies  are  ever  blue  and  the  sun  smiling.  In 
such  climes  one  can  sit  beneath  a  vine  or  fig  tree  and  contem- 
plate the  beauties  of  nature. 

Poetry  has  filled  my  soul,  neighbor,  as  you  see.  It  was 
not  Byron's  poetry  that  filled  me  up  and  made  me  spill  over, 
but  the  sight  of  a  beauteous  creature,  a  maiden.  Don't  blame 
me,  please. 

Let  me  try  to  unbosom  myself  intelligently.  After  I  had 
arisen  from  the  bench  where  I  had  been  sitting,  I  walked  along 


140 

the  well-kept  pathway  into  the  park,  feeling  happy  and  gay; 
for  it  was  the  late  spring  season  of  the  year,  verging  on  to 
June, .  when  the  essence  of  hope  permeates  the  empyrean 
when  the  trees  and  flowers  are  in  full  leaf  and  when  all  nature 
is  garbed  in  her  newest  and  prettiest  dress  Then  one  is  full 
of  joy,  of  hope  and  of  happiness.  Many  people  passed  by  me, 
chatting  and  laughing  in  a  gay  manner,  some  in  groups,  some 
singly  and  some  in  pairs,  but  one  young  lady  who  drew  near 
me  and  who  was  all  alone,  attracted  my  attention  at. once. 

She  was  a  girl  a  little  above  the  medium  height,  rather 
slender  and  graceful  as  a  fawn.  She  wore  a  form-fitting  dark 
velvet  dress,  upon  which  was  sewed  in  semi-circular  fashion 
from  the  centre  of  the  shoulder  to  the  waist,  a  number  of 
large  white  buttons  which  were  about  the  size  of  a  dollar; 
from  the  waist  down  to  the  hem  of  the  dress,  extended  a 
straight  row  of  similar  buttons,  which  formed  a  continuous 
line  and  presented  a  unique  effect.  Upon  her  small  and 
shapely  head  sat  a  straw  Gainsborough  hat  which  was  turned 
up  at  the  side,  and  her  long,  slender  arms  and  hands  were 
encased  in  long  gloves. 

The  girl's  hair  was  luxuriant  and  dark,  her  eyes  were 
black,  her  features  small,  her  face  was  oval  in  shape  and  her 
complexion  of  an  olive  hue.  Her  form  was  lithe,  yet  fully 
rounded  and  her  breasts  were  small,  firm  and  round.  Had 
she  carried  a  bow  in  her  hand  and  a  quiver  of  arrows  slung 
across  her  shoulder  she  might  have  passed  for  Diana,  the 
Goddess  of  hunting. 

Almost  every  one  who  saw  her  turned  to  look  at  her 
the  second  time  and  stared  at  her;  but  whether  it  was  be- 
cause of  her  unusual  style  of  beauty  or  because  of  the  foreign 
style  of  her  dress,  I  do  not  know.  The  girl  threw  a  glance  at 
me  as  she  approached  and  I  was  a  goner  at  once.  I  lost  my 
heart.  My  heart  went  pit-a-pat  and  I  blushed,  but  I  had  the 
temerity  to  raise  my  hat  to  the  young  lady  in  salutation.  She 
acknowledged  the  salute  with  a  bow  and  a  smile.  "Faint 
heart  never  won  a  fair  lady,"  thinks  I,  so  I  stepped  up  to  the 


141 

beauty  and  entered  into  a  conversation  with  her,  and  she  was 
kind  enough  to  tolerate  it. 

With  her  permission  I  directed  her  footsteps  back  into 
the  park  from  which  she  was  about  to  emerge,  and  chatted 
with  her,  feeling  as  proud  and  happy  as  a  lord.  She  told  me, 
among  other  things  that  her  father  and  mother  were  natives 
of  Hungary,  in  Austria,  but  that  she  was  American  born.  She 
also  told  me  that  her  name  was  Henrietta.  She  talked  English 
perfectly  and  was  American  and  right  up-to-date  in  all 
respects,  though  it  was  plainly  to  be  seen  that  she  had  also 
rather  a  bizarre,  Magyar  taste.  She  graciously  gave  me  leave 
to  become  her  cavalier  and  consented  to  be  my  chaperon,  for 
I  had  informed  her  that  I  was  a  stranger  in  New  York  City. 
She  laughingly  told  me  that  she  would  try  to  lose  me  some- 
where. We  wended  our  footsteps  to  the  Mall,  which  is  a 
broad,  leafy  avenue  lined  with  statues,  and  underneath  which 
there  is  a  refreshment  place  where  ice  cream,  sandwiches, 
cakes,  coffee,  soda  water  and  other  light  refreshments  are 
sold.  This  refreshment  place  is  under  a  wagon  bridge  and  has 
chairs  and  tables  outside  of  it  where  those  so  inclined  may 
sit  and  eat  or  drink. 

Henrietta  and  I  sat  down  at  one  of  the  little  tables,  the 
cynosure  of  all  eyes,  and  had  an  ice.  What  sweet  nothings 
we  said  to  each  other  and  how  happy  we  were!  Later  on  we 
took  a  boat  ride  on  a  charming  little  lake  near  by,  in  a  gon- 
dola; the  gondola  being  propelled  by  an  Irishman  dressed  up 
as  a  Venetian.  As  we  were  rowed  around  the  lake  I  noticed 
some  sequestered  and  secluded  little  arbors  down  near  the 
water's  edge,  with  rustic  seats  in  them,  that  were  admirably 
fitted  for  love-making.  I  concluded  then  and  there  that  after 
our  boat  ride  was  over  I  would  steer  the  lovely  Henrietta 
into  one  of  these  love  bowers.  And  I  did,  too,  and  she  was 
nothing  loth.  Love  was  our  theme.  The  lovely  Henrietta 
was  built  for  love,  for  to  her  love  was  life,  joy — everything. 
Existence  to  her  was  nought  but  a  dream  of  love;  all  else 
beside  was  nothing.  Her  breath  was  sweet  as  a  babe's,  her 
soul  full  of  fire,  her  form  supple  and  yielding  as  a  willow 


142 

wand,  and  her  lips  were  made  to  be  kissed.  She  liked  to  be 
kissed.  Every  other  moment  she  would  throw  herself  back 
into  my  arms  and  put  up  her  lips  She  brought  to  my  memory 
the  lines  inscribed  by  Lord  Byron  to  Ellen,  which  run  thus: 

"Oh,  might  I  kiss  those  eyes  of  fire 

A  million  scarce  could  quench  desire; 
Still  would  I  steep  my  lips  in  bliss 
And  dwell  an  age  on  every  kiss; 

Nor  then  my  soul  should  sated  be, 

Still  would  I  kiss  and  cling  to  thee. 
Though  the  number  did  exceed 
The  golden  harvest's  countless  seed, 

Still  would  I  kiss  and  cling,  forever;  — 

Can  I  desist?    Ah  never,  never!" 

Henrietta  volunteered  to  show  me  the  latest  style  of  New 
York  kiss.  She  asked  me  to  throw  my  head  back,  to  turn  my 
eyes  upward  toward  the  skies  and  then  she  pecked  at  my 
lips  quickly  and  often,  as  does  a  dove  when  picking  up  seeds. 
She  asked  me  how  I  liked  the  style  and  I  responded  that  it 
was  delicious,  but  that  I  liked  the  old-fashioned  way  the  best.. 
I  declared  that  to  fold  her  sinuous  form  in  a  tight  and  loving 
embrace  and  to  cling  and  embrace,  suited  me  best. 

Oh,  what  a  spring  day  of  love  and  happiness  we  put  in! 
Such  days  in  a  life-time  are  few  and  rare.  Oh,  why  cannot 
such  happiness  last  always?  In  this  life,  it  is  joy,  then 
sorrow;  light,  then  shade.  Alas! 

Henrietta  and  I  afterward  explored  the  near  by  caves 
and  grottoes  in  the  park;  we  sought  out  other  retired  spots 
and  there  we  continued  our  love-making.  Henrietta  was  a 
game-bird  and  never  tired  of  love-making;  but  she  would  let 
me  go  just  so  far  and  no  further. 

A  year  or  two  after  our  meeting  in  the  park  I  happened 
to  be  in  New  York  and  met  Henrietta  by  accident  on  the 
street.  She  was  married  then  and  had  grown  so  stout  that 
she  had  become  unwieldy.  The  contrast  to  what  she  had  been 


143 

was  so  great  that  it  almost  staggered  me.  I  hope  she  has  a 
dozen  kids  running  around  by  this  time.  If  she  has  not,  she 
ought  to  have,  for  New  York  likes  to  have  its  population 
increase. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
I  SECURE  A  JOB. 

I  found  the  grafting  in  New  York  too  hard  lor  me.  For  a 
day  or  two  I  tried  to  sell  signs — I  forgot  to  say  that  I  had  left 
the  signs  securely  tied  up  in  a  bundle  in  the  baggage-room 
at  the  Grand  Central  Depot — but,  it  was  up-hill  work,  for  no 
one  was  willing  to  pay  twenty-five  cents  for  a  sign,  intimating 
to  me  that  twenty-five  cents  a  dozen  would  be  a  more  reason- 
able price.  This  discouraged  me,  so  I  concluded  to  find  work 
of  some  kind,  if  I  could.  That  was  no  easy  matter,  however, 
for,  although  there  were  plenty  of  jobs  to  be  had,  there  was 
a  mob  after  each  one.  A  "help  wanted"  advertisement  in  a 
newspaper  usually  would  bring  applicants  by  the  hundreds. 
I  concluded  that  the  wisest  thing  for  me  to  do  would  be 
to  go  from  place  to  place  in  quest  of  work,  for  the  worst  that 
could  happen  to  me  would  be  to  be  turned  down;  and  if  by 
any  chance  there  was  a  job  of  some  kind  vacant  I  could  step 
in  to  it  right  away  without  any  loss  of  time. 

I  made  up  my  mind  to  try  the  hotels  at  first,  as  they 
employ  a  great  deal  of  unskilled  help,  such  as  yardman, 
pantryman,  assistant  waiters  (called  omnibusses),  assistant 
stewards,  assistant  porters  and  the  like.  I  started  in  at  the 
Astor  House,  away  down  on  Broadway,  and  called  at  every 
hotel  of  any  size  or  consequence  as  far  up  as  Thirty-fourth 
street,  but  I  met  with  no  success.  I  was  treated  with  civility 
wherever  I  went  but  was  told  in  every  place  that  they  were 
full-handed,  or  that  they  were  sorry  to  say  there  was  no 
opening.  I  did  not  despair,  however.  I  set  out  again  on  my 


144 

quest  the  following  morning,  and  after  calling  at  several 
places,  stepped  into  a  catering  establishment  on  Fifth  avenue, 
which  is  one  of  the  largest  and  most  famous  in  the  country. 
Although  not  a  hotel,  this  establishment  is  contained  in  a 
building  several  stories  in  height  and  supplies  banquets  and 
parties  on  the  outside  or  inside  That  is  to  say,  if  you  desire 
to  give  a  party  or  banquet  at.  your  home,  this  caterer  will 
supply  all  the  eatables,  drinkables,  waiters,  etc.,  for  the 
occasion;  or,  if  you  wish  to  give  the  party  or  banquet  at  the 
rooms  of  the  caterer,  you  can  do  so,  for  he  has  banquet-rooms, 
a  ball-room,  dining-room,  etc.,  in  his  establishment,  sufficient 
to  keep  several  banquets  or  parties  going  at  the  same  time. 

In  the  basement"  of  this  large  and  commodious  building 
are  situated  the  store-rooms,  in  which  are  glassware  and 
crockery  ware  in  barrels  and  crates;  groceries,  stores  and 
staples  of  all  sorts;  the  office  of  the  steward  and  his  assist- 
ant; a  business  office,  lumber-room  and  the  like.  On  the 
floor  above,  fronting  on  Fifth  avenue  will  be  found  a  candy 
store  which  can  be  entered  from  the  street,  and  in  which  are 
for  sale  the  choicest  of  candies,  bon  bons,  favors,  etc.,  which 
are  sold  at  retail  and  are  made  on  the  premises,  for  this 
establishment  employs  only  the  best  artists  in  the  culinary, 
baking,  and  confectionery  line. 

On  the  floor  above  this — the  second  story — are  numerous 
private  dining-rooms,  which  can  be  connected  or  disconnected, 
as  occasions  require;  and  on  the  third  story  are  large  banquet 
halls  and  the  ball-room.  The  fourth  floor  contains  spacious 
and  immaculate  kitchens  which  are  presided  over  by  an  army 
of  chefs  and  assistants,  all  of  whom  are  thorough,  for  they 
have  served  a  long  time  at  their  trade  and  could  not  hold  a 
job  in  that  establishment  if  they  were  not  so.  There  are 
vegetable  cooks,  pastry  cooks,  meat  cooks,  boilers,  roasters, 
sauce  and  pudding  makers,  etc.,  and  their  assistants. 

On  the  top  story  there  are  dormitories  for  the  housekeeper 
and  her  maids,  who  keep  the  house  in  order,  clean  up,  sweep, 
dust,  etc.  There  is  half  a  dozen  or  more  of  these  female 
servants.  The  waiters,  omnibusses,  porters,  cooks  and  other 


145 

male  help  do  not  sleep  on  the  premises,  but  room  outside, 
wherever  they  choose.  Among  the  other  help  required  in  this 
huge  caravansary  is  a  window-cleaner  whose  duty  it  is  to 
keep  every  window  in  the  building  as  bright  and  shiny  as  a 
new  dollar.  Another  man  polishes  up  the  brass  work  around 
the  gas-jets,  chandeliers,  etc. 

I  don't  know  what  happened  to  the  window-cleaner  that 
morning,  but  he  did  not  show  up,  and  as  the  work  had  to  be 
done,  I  was  given  his  job  'when  I  applied  for  it,  for  had  I  not 
been  on  the  spot  to  apply  for  it,  the  manager  would  have  sent 
for  a  hand  from  somewhere.  I  was  given  a  trial  at  twenty- 
five  dollars  a  month  and  board,  and  was  told  that  if  I  did 
my  work  right  I  would  have  a  steady  job.  I  was  told  just 
what  I  would  have  to  do  and  was  shown  how  the  windows 
were  to  be  cleaned,  which  was  by  washing  them  with  hot 
water,  then  drying  them  with  newspapers  and  afterward 
polishing  them  with  a  chamois. 

The  work  was  easy — dead  easy.  I  did  not  have  to  polish 
up  every  window  in  the  establishment  every  day,  but  as  many 
as  I  cared  to  do.  In  fact -there  were  so  many  of  them  that  it 
took  me  a  week  to  finish  from  cellar  to  attic.  I  worked  from 
8  A.  M.  to  5  P.  M.  and  it  was  the  softest  snap  in  the  way  of 
a  job  I  had  ever  struck,  and  I  have  worked  at  many.  I  pol- 
ished a  window  slowly  and  carefully  and  no  one  ever  said  a 
word  to  me,  for  I  was  practically  my  own  master.  The  house- 
keeper was  my  superior,  and  as  she  saw  no  windows  that 
looked  bad,  she  said  nothing  to  me. 

The  board  was  extra  fine;  in  fact  it  was  a  trifle  too  rich 
for  a  poor  man.  There  was  roast  goose,  chicken,  duck,  game 
of  all  sorts,  for  dinner  every  day;  oysters,  rich  sauces  and 
gravies;  pastries,  pies,  wines,  etc.,  all  of  which  were  left-over 
vituals  from  banquets,  parties,  etc.,  and  we  certainly  lived 
off  the  fat  of  the  land.  Sometimes  on  a  morning  I  would  go 
into  a  banquet-room  that  had  not  yet  been  ridded  up  and  stuff 
my  pockets  with  the  most  delicious  of  candies  and  cakes,  but 
these  rich  things  soon  began  to  cloy.  In  fact,  all  the  help  pre- 
ferred the  plainest  of  viands  and  had  long  ago  tired  of  the 


14G 

rich  kinds.  One  young  Irish  lad  who  had  but  recently  landed 
from  the  old  country  was  taken  on  by  Teddy,  the  porter,  as 
an  assistant  to  him,  and  at  dinner  one  day  a  dish  of  potato 
salad  with  mayonnaise  dressing  was  set  before  him.  He 
tasted  it,  spit  it  out  contemptuously  and  complained  angrily 
that  he  could  not  eat  cold  potatoes.  He  wanted  them  hot. 
Such  stuff  wasn't  fit  for  a  dog,  he  declared. 

I  held  this  job  down  for  about  three  months  and  saved  all 
the  money  I  could,  for  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  pay  my 
way  across  to  Europe  on  a  liner.  I  saw  a  good  deal  of  New 
York  during  those  three  months,  for  I  got  off  at  five  o'clock 
every  evening  and  the  days  were  long.  I  familiarized  myself 
with  the  city  as  muctf  as  I  could.  After  my  work  was  finished 
I  would  usually  go  to  my  room  for  a  little  while,  to  indulge 
in  a  wash  and  clean  up,  for  I  always  tried  to  be  neat  and 
clean  in  my  person,  and  then  I  would  take  a  stroll  to  see  the 
sights  of  the  great  city.  Often  I  would  take  a  Third  avenue 
car  and  ride  out  to  Fort  George  for  a  nickel — a  distance  of 
ten  miles  or  more;  at  another  time  I  would  go  to  Coney  Island, 
one  of  the  livliest  and  dizziest  summer  resorts  on  the 
American  continent  today;  or  I  would  go  to  South  Beach, 
Bowery  Bay,  Staten  Island,  Jamaica,  Canarsie,  Fort  Hamilton, 
Bath  Beach,  Central  Park,  Bronx  Park,  the  Aquarium  down 
at  the  Battery,  the  Museum  in  Central  Park  West,  etc. 

On  a  Sunday,  which  was  a  day  off  for  me,  I  would  cross 
over  to  the  New  Jersey  side  and  visit  Bayonne,  Hoboken, 
Newark,  Harrison,  Kearney,  the  Orange  Mountains  or  the 
pretty  towns  in  their  vicinity;  or  take  a  boat  ride  in  a  fine, 
large  steamboat  up  the  Hudson  River,  a  stream  noted  for  its 
picturesque  scenery.  I  took  a  trip  to  Long  Branch  one  day,  on 
a  cosy  steamboat,  which  was  about  as  interesting  a  sail  as 
I  ever  took,  for  the  scenery  along  the  Shrewsbury  River  is 
incomparable  in  beauty  and  variety. 

Although  New  York  itself  is  not  very  pretty,  its  sur- 
roundings are,  and  the  poor  can  visit  a  thousand  and  one 
places  in  and  around  New  York  at  a  trifling  expense.  Little 
old  New  York,  even  if  she  is  a  "step-lively"  town  and  full 


147 

of  bloated  millionaires  and  bond-holders,  is  not  so  bad  a 
place  to  live  in  when  once  you  get  acquainted  there  and  have 
learned  the  ropes.  A  great  many  people  don't  like  New  York 
because  it  is  purse-proud,  they  say,  and  they  also  say  that 
one  is  considered  a  mere  nobody  if  he  has  no  money.  There 
may  be  some  truth  in  this,  but  if  one  stays  in  one's  own  class 
in  New  York,  the  rich  will  not  bother  one.  What  if  they  do 
turn  up  their  nose  at  you  and  regard  you  with  a  pitying  or 
contemptuous  stare,  you  need  not  mind.  A  stock  phrase  in 
New  York  is,  "Where  did  he  get  it?"  (his  wealth).  A  foreign 
lady  who  visited  New  York  gave  her  impressions  of  that  city 
to  a  New  York  newspaper,  which  published  the  article.  As 
every  one  is  entitled  to  his  or  her  opinions,  I  will  republish 
those  of  the  foreign  lady  here,  although  I  am  not  responsible 
for  her  opinions. 

"New  York?  It  is  a  wonderful  city,  a  very  big  city,  but 
I  do  not  think  a  very  nice  city.  You  think  of  nothing  but 
money.  In  the  day  time  you  think  of  making  it;  in  the  night 
time  of  spending  it.  And  your  pleasures,  or  what  you  call 
your  pleasures,  are  just  as  intense  as  your  business.  Is  that 
pleasure?  I  do  not  think  so.  I  have  not  seen  much  happiness 
in  New  York.  You  try  so  hard  to  get  it.  You  do  not  let  it 
come  of  itself." 

The  speaker  was  a  concert  singer,  a  Belgian  lady;  vivac- 
ious, cultured,  and  acquainted  with  most  of  the  capitals  of 
Europe.  She  continued: 

"You  are  always  striving.  Nearly  everybody  in  New  York 
has  the  automobile  face — or  shall  we  say  the  New  York  face 
— always  striving,  never  content.  And  then,  some  day  you 
die — and  of  what  use  is  the  striving?  Why  not  be  happy 
now,  like  the  Italians,  or  the  French,  or  the  Germans?  Not 
here,  but  in  their  own  countries.  Go  to  Europe  if  you  would 
see  happy  faces.  They  have  not  such  high  buildings  as  in 
New  York,  but  they  have  happiness,  which  is  worth  more. 

"It  does  not  seem  to  do  the  people  good  to  have  these 
high  buildings.  The  people  in  New  York — no,  I  do  not  like 
them.  In  Mexico  where  I  have  been,  and  where  I  am  going 


148 

now,  the  people  are  gentlemen.  A  man  may  be  poor  and  clad 
in  rags,  but  he  carries  his  rags  with  grace.  He  has  a  native 
dignity,  a  courtesy  that  you  do  not  seem  to  know  at  all  in 
New  York — not  at  all.  You  would  think  it  a  terrible  thing  to 
be  deprived  of  electric  lights  or  any  other  material  thing.  Is  it 
not  more  terrible  to  be  deprived  of  gentleness  and  courtesy?  In 
no  city  in  the  world  is  a  stranger  subjected  to  such  brusque- 
ness  and  rudeness  as  in  New  York.  Is  that  a  symptom  of 
civilization?  I  do  not  think  so.  You  have  many  lofty  build- 
ings but  the  character  of  the  people,  that  is  not  lofty. 

"Oh,  yes;  I  know  that  in  New  York  are  many  charming 
people.  I  have  met  many  of  them.  But  I  speak  of  the  mass—- 
the people  in  the  street,  in  the  shops,  on  the  cars.  These  are 
the  people  whom  the  stranger  meets  in  New  York,  or  Berlin, 
or  Vienna,  or  any  city,  and  it  is  on  this  basis  that  the  city 
must  be  what  you  call,  sized  up." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
STEERAGE  TO   GLASGOW. 

It  was  a  red  hot  morning  in  the  month  of  August  when  I 
boarded  a  street  car  and  rode  down  Broadway  toward 
Bowling  Green  to  see  what  kind  of  announcements  there 
were  in  the  steamship  offices  as  regards  a  trip  to  Europe.  I 
had  thrown  up  my  "yob,"  had  saved  a  little  money  and  was 
now  ready  to  purchase  a  ticket  for  the  old  country.  Steam- 
ship offices  in  lower  Broadway  and  along  Bowling  Green  are 
numerous,  in  fact  that  is  where  the  majority  of  them  are 
located,  but  the  vessels  themselves  are  berthed  in  piers  along 
the  Hudson  River.  In  the  vicinity  of  Bowling  Green  are  situ- 
ated the  offices  of  steamship  lines  that  sell  tickets  for  London 
direct,  Liverpool,  Hull,  Bristol,  Southampton,  Dublin,  Cork, 
Belfast,  Fishguard,  Rotterdam,  Amsterdam  and  other  dams; 


149 

to  Genoa,  Paris,  Havre,  Trieste;  Hamburg,  Bremen — and  in 
fact  to  so  many  other  places  that  a  fellow  gets  bewildered 
and  hardly  knows  where  to  go.  As  I  could  not  speak  a  foreign 
language  I  deemed  it  best  to  go  to  some  country  where  I 
could  understand  what  people  said  to  me  and  who  could 
understand  what  I  said  to  them.  This  would  avoid  foreign 
complications,  I  thought. 

I  stood  in  front  of  the  Cunard  office  carefully  studying 
the  alluring  posters  which  displayed  pictures  of  their  ships 
and  gave  general  information  as  to  sailing  dates,  etc.  As  I 
stood  there  intently  studying  the  posters,  a  bum  sidled  up 
to  me  and  asked,  "Say,  mister,  are  you  thinking  of  going  to 
Yerrup?"  I  looked  at  him  from  head  to  foot  and  asked  him, 
"what  do  you  want  to  know  for?" 

"Who,  me?"  replied  he,  slightly  taken  aback  and  taking 
time  to  gather  his  wits;  "oh,  I'm  connected  with  a  steamship 
office  around  on  Greenwich  street.  We  can  sell  you  a  ticket 
to  any  part  of  Yerrup  you  want  to  go  to,  and  mighty  cheap, 
too.  Come  along  with  me?" 

"Not  on  your  life,"  said  I.  "Did  I  tell  you  I  wanted  to  go 
to  Europe?" 

"No,  you  didn't,  but  we  sell  tickets  mighty  cheap, 
cheaper  than  the  steamship  companies." 

"Oh,  you  do,  do  you?"  said  I,  a  little  bit  interested  but 
suspicious  of  the  fellow,  who  didn't  look  at  all  good  to  me, 
"how  cheap?" 

"Aw,  that  depends  on  where  you  want  to  go  to.  Say, 
mister,  let  me  tell  you  something,"  said  he  earnestly  and  con- 
fidentially, and  with  a  business-like  air;  "we  kin  sell  you  a 
ticket  to  Glasgow  in  Scotland,  on  the  Anchor  line,  mighty 
cheap — in  the  steerage,  and  that  is  one  of  the  finest  trips  in 
the  world.  The  boats  '11  take  you  past  England,  Ireland  and 
Scotland,  and  show  you  some  mighty  fine  scenery.  Come 
with  me;  I'll  fit  you  out  in  a  jiffy." 

"What's  a  steerage  ticket  to  Glasgow  worth?"  asked  I. 

"Only  thirty  dollars,"  replied  he;  "and  you'll  get  the  best 


150 

of  grub,  a  good  bed  to  sleep  in  and  be  over  in  Yerrup  in  two 
shakes  of  a  lamb's  tail." 

"That's  faster  than  I  want  to  go,"  retorted  I. 

"Well,  mister,  the  Anchor  liners  ain't  so  fast  as  some  of 
de  odders,  but  they  kin  go  at  a  pooty  good  clip,  I'm  a-telling 
you;  you  won't  be  on  the  boat  long."  This  was  said  enthusi- 
astically. 

There  was  a  suspicion  deep  down  in  my  heart  that  I 
would  not  see  much  of  Europe  if  I  bought  a  ticket  from  this 
chap,  so  I  told  him,  decidedly  and  emphatically,  that  I  would 
see  him  later.  He  slunk  away  much  disappointed. 

What  he  had  told  me  about  the  Anchor  line,  appealed  to 
me.  I  sought  out  that  line  and  found  it  situated  on  Broad- 
way not  far  away.  The  steerage  office  was  in  the  basement 
of  the  building,  with  a  broad  flight  of  stone  steps  leading 
down  to  it.  I  reconnoitered  it  carefully  from  the  outside, 
read  the  sailing  announcements,  prices,  etc.,  and  then  I 
timidly  went  down  stairs  and  entered  the  office. 

The  office  was  low  and  dingy,  but  snug,  having  a  long 
counter  at  either  side,  on  which  was  disposed  sea  literature, 
pamphlets,  booklets  and  circulars  pertaining  to  foreign 
countries,  ships,  etc.  Two  or  three  clerks  were  in  the  office. 
As  I  stepped  up  to  a  counter  a  dapper  young  man  glided  up 
to  me  and  remarked.  "Well,  sir,  what  can  I  do  for  you?" 
He  was  pretty  cocky  and  self  sufficient,  and  his  manner  did 
not  please  me. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  as  you  can  do  anything  for  me," 
answered  I,  rather  huffily.  "I  merely  stepped  in  to  find  out 
the  price  of  a  ticket  to  Glasgow  in  Scotland." 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  he,  in  rather  an  apologetic  manner, 
"cabin  or  steerage?" 

"Steerage,  of  course;  I'm  no  John  Jacob  Astor  or  Van- 
derbilt."  The  lah-de-dah  young  clerk  displayed  a  sort  of  grin 
and  then  got  off  the  following  harrangue,  .parrot-like,  as  if  he 
knew  the  speech  by  heart: 

"We  can  take  you  to  Glasgow  for  twenty-eight  dollars. 
You  will  have  a  good  berth,  good  food  and  plenty  of  it;  up- 


151 

to-date  sleeping  conveniences;  and  you  will  reach  Glasgow 
ten  days  after  leaving  here.  The  Furnessia,  our  next  ship, 
sails  Saturday,  at  10  a.  m.,  from  her  pier  at  the  foot  of  West 
Twenty-fourth  street.  Do  you  want  a  ticket?" 

I  cogitated  for  a  moment.  "Yes,  give  me  a  ticket," 
exclaimed  I  impulsively. 

In  a  jiffy  the  young  man  opened  a  drawer,  pulled  forth 
a  long  ticket,  slapped  it  down  on  the  counter  and  then  began 
to  ask  questions.  He  wanted  to  know  my  name,  where  I  was 
born,  my  father  and  mother's  name,  if  I  were  married  or 
single,  my  occupation,  age,  what  I  intended  to  do  in  the  old 
country,  how  long  I  contemplated  staying  there,  and  a  few 
other  leading  questions,  all  of  which  he  wrote  down  and  then 
handed  me  the  ticket,  first  getting  the  money,  however.  I 
took  the  ticket,  folded  it  up  and  carefully  placed  it  in  my 
pocket.  As  I  turned  to  go,  the  young  clerk  said  to  me, 
"Remember,  please,  foot  of  Twenty-fourth  street,  the  Furnes- 
sia, Saturday  morning  at  10  o'clock.  You  want  to  be  there  on 
time  or  you'll  get  left!" 

"Don't  you  worry  about  me  getting  left,  old  man;  I'll  be 
there  on  time  all  right,"  retorted  I.  The  young  fellow  said 
no  more.  Was  I  happy,  now  that  I  had  secured  my  ticket? 
I  was  not.  Dire  forebodings  began  to  assail  me.  As  I  had 
never  been  on  the  ocean,  I  wondered  whether  I  would  be  sea- 
sick. No  doubt  I  would  be.  What  was  sea-sickness  like? 
Would  it  hurt  a  fellow?  What  would  my  reception  be  in  the 
old  country.  Would  I  be  received  with  open  arms  or  clapped 
into  jail?  Billy  had  told  me  that  an  impecunious  stranger 
didn't  stand  much  of  a  show  in  England.  I  had  about  fifteen 
dollars  remaining  in  my  inside  pocket  after  paying  for  my 
ticket,  and  that  would  see  me  through  for  a  while  anyway,  I 
thought,  until  I  could  get  my  bearings.  I  was  uneasy,  though, 
I  hardly  know  why.  I  had  never  left  my  native  shore  before, 
and  was  I  wise  in  thinking  of  doing  so  now?  Was  I  going  on 
a  mere  wild-goose  chase?  What  kind  of  experiences  had  fate 
in  store  for  me?  These  and  other  thoughts  floated  through 
my  brain  and  rendered  me  apprehensive  and  nervous. 


152 

This  was  Thursday.  The  vessel  was  to  sail  on  Saturday, 
giving  me  two  days'  time  to  pack  up.  I  didn't  require  two 
minutes  time  to  pack  up,  for  there  was  nothing  to  pack.  All 
that  I  proposed  to  take  with  me  were  the  clothes  on  my 
person  and  nothing  more.  Not  even  a  valise,  hand-satchel, 
or  anything  else.  I  like  to  fly  "light,"  when  I  travel  and  don't 
like  to  be  encumbered  any  more  than  is  necessary.  That  has 
always  been  my  method.  There  was  bedding,  grub  and  uten- 
sils on  board  the  vessel,  so  what  more  did  I  need?  Nothing, 
that  I  could  see.  Friday  night  was  the  last  one  I  spent  ashore, 
and  I  lay  awake  in  my  bed  tossing  nearly  all  night,  for  visions 
of  disaster  kept  floating  through  my  noddle. 

When  the  sun  arose,  I  arose  with  it  and  went  forth  into 
the  fresh  air  and  sunlight,  where  I  soon  began  to  feel  a  little 
more  cheerful.  After  walking  leisurely  through  the  deserted 
streets  of  New  York  for  awhile — it  was  very  early — I  became 
hungry,  and  stepped  into  a  restaurant  where  I  had  a  good, 
square  meal. 

Slowly,  and  deeply  absorbed-like,  I  walked  down  the  long 
streets  to  the  foot  of  Twenty-fourth  street,  where  the  Anchor 
line  pier  is  situated.  The  pier  is  several  hundred  feet  long 
and  entirely  roofed  over.  In  front  of  it  is  a  huge  double 
gateway  for  teams,  and  beside  it  a  smaller  one  for  passengers. 
I  was  about  to  walk  through  the  passenger  gateway  when  an 
official  stepped  up  to  me  and  asked  me  where  I  was  going. 

"To  Glasgow,"  responded  I. 

"Let  me  see  your  ticket,"  requested  he.  I  let  him  see 
it.  ''All  right!"  exclaimed  he. 

In  I  went  without  further  parley. 

The  Furnessia  was  there,  moored  alongside  her  wharf.  A 
good  deal  of  freight  was  still  being  run  on  board  of  her  arid 
there  were  huge  piles  of  baggage,  too,  alongside,  awaiting 
shipment  Very  soon  the  steerage  passengers  began  to  arrive 
in  squads.  To  look  at  them  you  would  think  that  they  were 
marquis,  dukes  and  counts,  for  all  of  them  were  dressed  to 
kill. 

Oh,  the  style  of  them!     What  do  people  who  travel  steer- 


153 

age  want  to  put  on  lugs  for?  thought  I;   they  are  only  third- 
raters. 

There  was  a  vast  throng  of  them  and  still  they  kept 
a-coming.  The  first  and  second  class  passengers  kept  a-roll- 
ing  up  in  cabs,  carriages  and  other  vehicles;  the  scene  was 
noisy  and  lively  enough. 

There  were  two  passenger  gangways  running  up  to  the 
ship,  one  near  the  bows  and  the  other  near  the  stern;  the 
one  at  the  bow  being  for  steerage  passengers  and  the  one  at 
the  rear  for  first  and  second-class.  The  first  and  second-class 
passengers  would  not  deign  to  mix  with  third  raters,  not  if 
they  knew  it.  They  held  aloof  from  them  and  yet  some  of 
the  steerage  passengers  might  have  been  better  folk  than 
they.  Money  makes  quite  a  difference  on  ocean  liners,  as  on 
shore.  A  chain  was  slung  across  the  steerage  gangway  until 
the  boat  was  nearly  ready  to  leave,  barring  the  steerage 
passengers  from  going  on  board  the  vessel,  but  the  first  and 
second-class  passengers  could  go  aboard  at  any  old  time. 
When  the  chain  was  unfastened  from  the  steerage  gangplank 
there  was  a  mighty  rush  upward,  of  men,  women  and  children. 
Such  a  shouting,  yelling,  slipping  and  scrambling  there  was; 
reminding  me  of  cattle-loading  out  West.  The  scenes  were 
brisk  and  no  mistake.  Did  I  mix  in  with  the  push?  To  be 
sure  I  did,  and  held  my  own,  too. 

When  I  got  to  the  top  of  the  gangplank  a  waiter  in  a  white 
see-more  jacket  and  peaked  cap  whispered  to  me:  "Are  you  a 
single  or  married  man?"  The  cheek  of  him!  I  asked  him 
what  he  wanted  to  know  for,  whereupon  he  got  huffy  immedi- 
ately and  exclaimed:  "Here,  young  man,  don't  give  me  no 
sarce.  I  want  tu  know  if  ye're  married  or  single?"  Maybe 
he  had  a  reason  for  asking  the  question,  so  I  made  reply, 
"single!" 

"That's  the  way  to  talk,"  said  the  mollified  steward.  "You 
go  forward  to  the  single  men's  quarters." 

"Where's  that?"  queried  I. 

"Forward  to  the  main  hatch,"  replied  he. 


154 

I  did  not  know  the  main  hatch  from  a  chicken  hatch,  but 
I  went  forward  just  the  same.  After  picking  my  way  over 
anchors,  chains,  trunks,  valises,  hat-boxes,  bandboxes  and  a 
few  other  impediments,  I  came  upon  a  big  square  hole,  down 
which  several  sailors  were  slinging  things  by  means  of  a  rope. 
During  an  interval  from  hoisting,  I  stepped  up  to  a  good- 
natured  looking  sailor  and  asked  him  where  the  main  hatch 
was. 

"It's  in  the  fo'  castle,"  replied  he,  with  a  wink  at  his 
mates;  "do  you  want  it?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  replied  I;  "I'm  looking  for  the  quarters  for 
the  single  men." 

"Oh,  that's  the  lay,  is  it?  Why  didn't  you  say  so  before? 
What  was  you  askin'  for  the  main  hatch  for?  You  goes  for- 
ward till  you  finds  a  companionway,  down  which  you  goes; 
see?"  I  heard  but  I  did  not  see.  I  did  not  know  what  a  com- 
panionway was,  nor  had  I  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing,  but  a 
fellow  can  learn  a  whole  lot  if  he  keeps  his  eyes  and  ears 
open.  That  is  what  I  did;  kept  my  eyes  and  ears  open,  and 
when  I  got  to  the  forward  part  of  the  ship,  which  is  called 
the  bows,  I  noticed  a  stairway  enclosed  in  a  framework  of 
wood,  with  a  sliding  hood  or  cover  on  top  of  it,  which  led 
below.  Down  it  some  of  the  steerage  passengers  were  going. 
I  followed  them  and  went  down  the  stairway,  which  was 
almost  straight  up  and  down,  and  had  brass  plates  on  each 
step  to  prevent  one  from  slipping,  and  ropes  instead  of  bal- 
ustrades. The  stairway  seemed  like  a  ladder  to  me,  but 
maybe  it  was  good  enough  for  lone  bucks  who  travel  in  the 
steerage. 

I  had  gone  about  half  way  down,  when  an  odor  came  up 
that  almost  asphyxiated  me.  I  had  smelled  some  queer  things 
in  my  day  before,  such  as  stale  onions,  decaying  steers  and 
the  like,  but  this  odor  was  totally  unl-ike  anything  I  had  ever 
smelled.  I  can't  define  it,  but  it  was  a  mighty  subtle  and 
penetrating  one.  It  grabbed  me  by  the  throat  and  rendered 
me  helpless.  A  dizziness  came  over  me  which  compelled  me 
suddenly  to  sit  down  on  a  step,  my  hand  clutching  the  rail 


155 

for  support.  I  began  to  chew  and  spit  as  if  I  were  chewing 
tobacco.  Suddenly  a  lump  rose  in  my  throat  and  I  became 
so  weak  at  the  stomach  that  I  did  not  think  I  had  any 
stomach  at  all.  I  began  to  heave  up  my  breakfast  then  at  a 
great  rate.  Oh,  what  a  sick  man  I  was!  I  had  never  been 
sick  that  way  before,  for  my  stomach  had  never  gone  back 
on  me  like  that  The  heart  had  been  taken  clean  out  of  me; 
I  became  as  weak  as  a  cat  and  you  could  have  knocked  me 
down  with  a  feather.  Some  of  the  passengers,  as  they  came 
down,  looked  at  me  and  grinned,  and  probably  thought  it  a 
good  joke.  Their  heartlessness  aggravated  me  and  I  cursed 
them  in  my  heart.  Maybe  you'll  get  a  dose  of  the  same  thing, 
said  I  to  myself. 

I  sat  there  a-grunting  and  a-groaning,  unable  to  go  up 
or  down,  and  felt  as  if  I  wanted  to  die,  for  the  straining  and 
retching  racked  my  frame  in  a  horrible  way. 

I  expected  that  I  was  going  to  die  and  I  didn't  care  a  rap 
whether  I  did  or  not.  Some  people  when  they  grow  seasick, 
get  sick  all  over,  but  some  people  never  get  seasick  at  all. 

As  I  sat  there  ruminating,  grunting  and  a-growling,  one  of 
the  sailors  came  down  stairs  airy-fairy  fashion,  as  if  he  were 
dancing  on  eggs.  With  both  hands  he  carried  a  huge  black 
pan  in  which  floated  potatoes,  roast  meat,  and  gravy.  I 
caught  a  whiff  of  the  pan's  contents  and  that  was  enough  for 
me.  I  fired  away  again.  Jacky  remarked  to  me  indignantly, 
"why  don't  you  go  on  deck  if  you  want  to  be. sick;  what  do 
you  mean  by  mussing  up  the  ship  like  that?" 

Had  I  been  able  I  would  have  swiped  the  heartless  cuss 
one  for  luck,  but  I  was  too  weak  to  raise  an  eyebrow,  almost, 
let  alone  a  fist.  Those  who  have  been  seasick  can  realize 
just  what  my  feelings  were,  and  those  who  have  not  been, 
cannot. 

But,  attached  to  my  passage  ticket  there  was  a  berth 
ticket,  and  if  I  wanted  a  berth  I  would  have  to  go  below  to 
see  the  steerage  steward  about  it,  who  would  reserve  it  for 
me.  But  how  was  I  going  to  get  below?  I  positively  could  not! 


156 

I  sat  there  a  long  while  making  up  my  mind.  Finally  I 
put  my  handkerchief  to  my  nose  and  mouth,  and  went  down 
slowly,  step  by  step,  halting  on  some  steps  to  fire  away  and 
then  to  sit  down.  I  got  down  at  last.  The  steward  gave 
me  one  look,  hurriedly  pointed  out  to  me  my  berth,  and 
advised  me  to  go  on  deck  again;  to  get  all  the  fresh  air  I 
could.  I  followed  his  advice,  for  I  divined  that  he  knew  what 
he  was  talking  about.  I  guess  it  took  me  a  full  quarter  of  an 
hour  to  get  up  that  stairway  again.  I  gained  the  deck,  sat 
down  on  a  chain,  away  from  everybody,  and  cussed  myself 
for  being  such  a  fool  as  to  go  aboard  a  ship. 

It  was  nearly  10  o'clock  by  this  time,  and  preparations 
were  being  made  for  departure.  A  ship's  officer  stood  on  top 
of  a  covered  deck  away  up  in  the  bow  of  the  vessel  and  gave 
orders  in  a  quiet,  gentlemanly  way  to  the  slaves  on  shore,  to 
let  go  the  lines.  The  captain  stood  on  the  bridge  looking 
around,  saying  nothing  but  taking  in  everything  and  giving 
signals  to  the  fellows  below.  A  big  crowd  was  on  the  pier 
to  see  us  off  and  nearly  all  of  the  passengers  were  on  deck  to 
bid  a  last  adieu  to  their  friends  and  acquaintances.  All  the 
ropes  that  had  fastened  the  vessel  to  the  dock  were  now  being 
hauled  on  board  of  our  vessel,  and  the  pier  was  beginning  to 
move  away  from  us,  at  least  so  it  seemed  to  me,  but  it  was 
our  vessel  that  was  moving  away  from  the  pier. 

We  were  off!  We  were  off!  !  There  was  a  deal  of  wav- 
ing of  handkerchiefs,  then  of  bands,  of  veils,  parasols  and  the 
like,  among  the  crowd  on  shore  and  on  the  vessel,  and  not  a 
little  blubbering,  but  n'er  a  blubber  from  me,  not  even  a  wave 
of  the  hand.  I  had  no  friends  or  relatives  to  see  me  off.  I 
sat  there  observing  the  others.  The  mob  on  ship  and  ashore 
were  shouting,  gesticulating,  waving  things,  hurrahing,  etc., 
to  beat  the  band.  Go  it!  go  it!  says  I  to  myself.  For  an  in- 
stant I  felt  like  taking  a  flying  leap  overboard  to  get  asiiort 
again,  but  that  feeling  was  an  insane  one.  Of  course  I  was 
not  so  foolish  as  to  do  such  a  thing. 

The  big  steamer  moved  out  of  her  pier  quite  slowly  but 
it  wasn't  long  before  she  was  abreast  of  the  head  of  the  pier 


157 

and  then  out  she  moved  into  the  stream,  where  she  took  the 
centre  of  the  Hudson  River,  and  then  turned  her  nose  down 
stream  toward  the  Battery.  It  was  a  lively  and  picturesque 
panorama  that  was  then  presented  to  us. 

On  the  right  hand  side,  on  the  New  Jersey  shore,  was 
old  Castle  Stevens,  which  loomed  up  plainly.  Beyond  were 
the  Palisades,  extending  northward;  southward  were  towns, 
docks  and  ships.  On  the  New  York  side  we  could  see  piers 
extending  far  into  the  river;  Tenth  avenue,  with  its  quaint 
brick  and  stone  houses;  a  Tenth  avenue  horse  car  moving 
slowly  along;  and  in  the  background,  huge  skyscrapers. 

In  a  very  few  moments  the  Furnessia  was  scooting  along 
abreast  of  the  Battery,  or  Castle  Garden  as  it  used  to  be 
called,  for  it  was  a  fortified  castle  about  100  years  ago  and 
the  grounds  surrounding  it  are  still  there.  Bedloe's  Island, 
Ellis  Island,  Staten  Island  and  other  islands,  we  passed,  all  of 
which  are  utilized  for  some  purpose  or  another,  and  on  one 
of  them  stands  the  Goddess  of  Liberty,  in  bronze,  holding 
up  the  huge  torch  of  liberty  that  enlightens  the  world. 

Then  we  passed  Brooklyn,  Governor's  Island,  Bay  Ridge, 
Fort  Hamilton,  Fort  Lafayette,  Fort  Richmond,  Bath  Beach, 
Coney  Island,  the  twin  lights  of  the  Highlands  of  Navesirik, 
until  finally  we  came  up  to  and  passed  Sandy  Hook,  the  last 
point  of  land  we  would  see  until  we  sighted  the  shores  of 
Europe. 

Nothing  could  we  now  see  around  us  except  sky  and 
water,  and  I  wasn't  stuck  on  that  kind  of  scenery  at  all.  It 
didn't  look  good  to  me.  The  day  was  fair  but  there  was  just 
the  least  bit  of  a  swell  on  which  caused  the  bow  of  the  boat 
to  heave  up  and  down.  From  the  place  where  I  was  sitting 
I  could  easily  see  her  heave,  but  the  motion  was  not  enough 
to  distress  me.  An  ocean  breeze  was  blowing  strongly, 
accelerated  by  the  movement  of  the  vessel,  no  doubt,  but  it 
was  exhilirating.  It  brought  some  strength  back  to  me,  but 
I  still  felt  a  gnawing  at  my  stomach,  as  if  there  was  a  great 
vacancy  there. 


158 

I  looked  at  the  green  and  tumbling  waters  Dut  the 
prospect  quickly  grew  monotonous  to  me,  as  did  the  endless 
expanse  of  blue  sky  which  was  flecked  here  and  there  by 
fleecy,  cumulus  clouds.  I  do  believe  I  was  getting  an  appre- 
tite.  Wind  and  scenery  are  all  right,  but  they  don't  fill  an 
empty  stomach. 

The  dinner  bell  rang  and  then  there  was  a  rush  arid  a 
stampede  as  of  cattle.  The  stiff  salt  breeze  must  have  given 
every  one  an  appetite,  for  the  bucks  didn't  take  time  to  rush 
down  stairs,  they  just  leaped  down,  not  caring  much  where 
they  landed. 

The  single  males  roomed  and  boarded  separately  as  did 
the  single  females  and  the  married  couples.  I  suppose  this 
is  a  necessary  provision,  but  it  is  hard  on  the  poor  single 
males  and  females.  However,  they  can  mingle  on  deck  and 
remain  there  until  dark,  after  which  they  have  to  go  then* 
separate  ways.  I  took  no  part  in  the  stampede  to  the  festive 
board  below.  I  went  down  slowly  and  carefully,  trying  to 
keep  a  stiff  upper  lip,  for  I  needed  a  bite  to  eat.  I  got  down 
all  right  and  saw  before  me  some  tables  at  either  side  of 
which  were  wooden,  backless  benches,  which  were  fastened 
to  the  floor.  Room  was  made  for  me  and  I  sat  down,  feeling 
dubious.  I  was  hungry  but  did  I  want  to  eat?  I  didn't  know, 
for  sure!  Some  pea  soup  was  handed  to  me  which  1  supped 
slowly  and  found  mighty  good.  Then  there  were  huge  plat- 
ters heaped  full  of  steamed  potatoes  with  their  jackets  on, 
plenty  of  meat,  and  bread  cut  in  huge  slices.  There  was  a 
plenty,  such  as  it  was.  I  could  eat  no  potatoes  nor  meat,  but 
I  disposed  of  a  half  cupful  or  more  of  soup,  stuffed  a  piece  of 
bread  in  my  pocket  and  then  went  on  deck  again. 

While  on  the  subject  of  food,  I  will  relate  here  what  our 
meals  consisted  of,  which  may  interest  some  people.  For 
breakfast  there  was  oatmeal  and  milk,  called  porridge;  mar- 
malade, made  of  some  kind  of  bum  fruit  that  was  barely 
sweetened;  oleomargarine,  called  margarine,  (axle  grease), 
which  no  one  ate  except  those  who  were  not  used  to  anything 
better;  large,  but  rather  coarse,  white,  hot  biscuits;  all  to 


159 

be  washed  down  with  copious  draughts  of  hot  coffee,  if  one 
chose.  For  dinner  there  was  soup,  meat  (or  ling  fish  instead 
of  meat,  sometimes),  vegetables,  bread,  coffee  (or  tea),  and 
once  or  twice  a  week,  pudding.  For  supper — called  tea- 
there  was  axle  grease,  (margarine),  cold  meat  or  fish,  bread 
and  tea.  At  eight  p.  m.  a  night-cap  was  served  to  those  who 
cared  for  it,  which  consisted  of  biscuits  and  cheese. 

Some  of  the  passengers  carried  a  private  stock  of  liquors 
with  them  and  also  provisions;  others  were  foxy  enough  to 
tip  the  cooks  and  had  tid-bits  handed  to  them  on  the  sly.  Wise 
lads,  those!  If  any  one  went  hungry  or  thirsty  on  board  the 
Furnessia  it  was  his  or  her  own  fault,  for  such  as  the  grub 
was,  there  was  plenty  of  it. 

I  remained  on  deck  Saturday  afternoon,  our  first  day  out, 
occasionally  observing  the  sea  and  sky  but  finding  it  more 
interesting  to  regard  the  passengers,  who  formed  a  motley 
throng.  The  majority  of  the  passengers  were  young  men  and 
women  who  had  gone  forth  on  a  holiday.  They  had  followed 
various  occupations  on  shore  in  the  "States,"  had  saved  a 
little  money  and  now  were  .putting  it  to  a  good  use  by  visiting 
the  scenes  of  their  childhood. 

A  great  many  of  the  passengers  were  sitting  in  conven- 
ient or  inconvenient  places  along  the  decks;  others  were 
standing  in  groups  conversing,  and  not  a  few  were  walking 
briskly  back  and  forth.  These  latter  were  mostly  couples, 
male  and  female.  The  strong  roar  of  the  wind  down  the 
capacious  funnels,  the  mighty  onward  rush  of  the  huge  vessel, 
the  bright  sunlight  and  the  blue  skies,  combined  to  make  a 
picture  that  was  interesting  enough,  but  I  can't  say  that  li 
made  me  happy. 

There  were  a  great  many  girls  aboard,  chiefly  Irish  and 
Scotch,  some  of  whom  were  quite  pretty  and  did  not  lack  for 
cavaliers.  They  seemed  to  be  just  as  happy  and  chatty  as 
their  escorts  and  were  evidently  enjoying  themselves.  One 
chap  especially  attracted  my  attention  and  that  of  almost 
every  one  else.  He  was  tall,  had  red,  curly  hair,  wore  no  hat,  was 
freckled,  and  was  attired  in  a  golf-suit  with  thick  stockings 


ICO 

that  came  up  to  his  knees.  He  was  a  sturdily  built  chap  with 
voluminous  calves  and  deemed  himself  an  Adonis.  His  limbs 
were  sturdy  but  his  manner  was  boisterous  and  intrusive, 
and  he  was  a  forceful  sort  of  chap  who  would  not  be  denied. 
The  girls  could  not  resist  him  evidently,  for  he  had  a  new  one 
in  tow  every  little  while.  Whether  some  of  the  ladies  did 
not  like  him  and  gave  him  the  shake,  or  whether  they  all 
wanted  a  turn  with  him,  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure. 

The  afternoon  was  put  in  agreeably  enough  and  when  it 
grew  dark,  the  wind  freshened  and  the  roar  of  it  increased. 
All  were  shooed  below  by  the  ship's  officers.  I  dreaded  to  go 
below  but  I  had  to.  The  steerage  did  not  suit  my  esthetic 
taste  at  all.  It  was  a  vast  compartment  fitted  up  with  berths 
two  or  three  in  a  row,  Chinaman  fashion,  one  above  the  other. 
They  were  fastened  to  the  deck  and  ceiling  by  thin  iron 
rods.  In  each  bunk  was  a  mattress,  pillow  and  blanket,  but 
there  were  no  chairs,  hooks  or  anything  else  to  hang  or  de- 
posit one's  clothes  on.  There  was  no  privacy  at  all,  so  no  one 
undressed  or  put  on  his  "nightie."  All  went  to  bed  in  the 
dark  or  semi-darkness.  Had  the  voyage  lasted  ten  months 
instead  of  ten  days  the  conditions  would  have  been  the  same 
— one  would  have  had  to  sleep  in  one's  clothes. 

Talk  about  your  life  on  the  ocean  wave!  Where  does  the 
joy  of  it  come  in?  Shoals  of  romance  writers  have  depicted 
the  glories  of  the  sea  and  song  writers  have  composed  pretty 
ditties  about  it,  but  some  of  these  chaps  probably  never  saw 
the  sea  except  from  the  shore.  Some  of  these  romantic 
fellows  ought  to  take  a  trip  in  the  steerage  of  an  ocean  liner 
and  if  that  don't  knock  the  romance  out  of  them  then  I'll  be 
surprised.  The  odors  in  the  steerage  are  worse  than  those 
in  a  slaughter  house  and  the  conditions  are  not  much  better. 
There  is  very  little  light,  less  fresh  air,  and,  as  before  said, 
no  privacy  whatever.  A  great  many  people  when  they  go 
aboard  a  liner,  go  to  their  berths  and  not  only  eat  there  but 
sleep  there  and  live  there.  They  don't  get  up  unless  they 
have  to,  and  then  it  is  for  a  short  period  only.  They  try  to 
get  in  as  much  sleep  as  they  can  so  as  to  make  the  voyage 


1G1 

pass  quickly.  Like  myself,  they  don't  like  the  sea  and  dread 
it.  Others,  however,  like  the  sea  and  are  nearly  always  on 
deck.  They  have  a  good  appetite  and  feel  as  gay  and  happy 
as  a  lark. 

To  judge  from  the  printed  announcements  issued  by  the 
steamship  companies,  the  first  and  second-class  passengers 
have  all  the  comforts  of  home,  aboard  ship.  They  dine  a  la 
carte,  have  separate  sleeping  rooms,  a  smoking  room,  library, 
bathroom,  swimming  tanks,  telephone,  electric  lights,  and 
goodness  knows  what  else. 

Deuced  little  did  I  sleep  the  first  night  aboard.  Some 
fellows  were  noisy  and  boisterous,  and  chatted  until  the  morn- 
ing,  but  no  one  gave  them  a  hint  to  be  quiet.  Some  one  did 
talk  to  them  in  a  haphazard  way,  but  they  took  no  heed.  I 
got  in  a  few  cat  naps;  that  was  all.  As  soon  as  I  saw  daylight 
appear  at  the  little,  round  port-holes,  I  went  on  deck  and 
remained  there  until  breakfast  time.  When  the  breakfast 
bell  rang,  I  went  down  for  rolls  and  coffee.  My  appetite  was 
still  rather  delicate  and  so  was  my  stomach.  I  hardly  kne\\ 
whether  I  was  a-foot  or  on  horse-back.  The  fetid  odors  down 
below  and  the  lack  of  sleep  had  helped  to  daze  me. 

The  day  was  a  beautiful  one  This  was  Sunday,  our  sec- 
ond day  out,  and  by  this  time  we  were  miles  and  miles  from 
shore.  The  sun  beamed  down  ardently  upon  us,  but  its  rays 
were  tempered  by  a  breeze  that  was  strong  and  exhilarating. 
The  decks  were  crowded  this  fine  morning,  for  every  one 
but  myself  felt  buoyant. 

We  had  a  good  dinner  this  day:  soup,  meat,  vegetables 
and  pudding.  I  had  no  appetite  to  enjoy  these  things.  All  I 
ate,  or  could  eat,  was  bread  and  soup.  The  next  day,  Monday, 
a  change  came  over  the  scene.  Heavy,  dark  clouds  began  to 
pile  up  in  the  sky,  and  soon  the  sun  was  totally  obscure-], 
the  wind  arose,  and  gradually  became  stronger  and  stronger. 
Then  the  waves  rose  mountains  high. 

These  frightful  looking  billows  caused  the  ship  to  plunge 
and  roll,  rendering  a  footing  on  decks  well  nigh  impossible. 
The  wind  increased  speedily  to  hurricane  fury — so  it  seemed 


162 

to  me — and  the  hollow  masts  groaned  at  a  terrible  rate;  ths 
cord  stairways  leading  up  the  masts  beat  against  them 
continually,  and  there  was  a  shrieking  and  a  groan- 
ing up  aloft  among  the  cordage,  as  if  a  tribe  of  Indians 
were  on  the  warpath.  A  great  many  of  the  passengers  went 
below,  frightened,  to  be  out  of  harm's  way,  but  not  I.  I  was 
game  and  wanted  to  die  at  the  front;  no  skulking  tor  me,  or 
hiding  my  head  under  the  bed-clothes  in  time  of  danger.  I 
wanted  to  see  what  was  going  on,  and  if  I  must  die,  I  did 
not  care  to  go  below  to  die  there  like  a  rat  in  a  trap. 

The  might  of  the  elements  awed  me  and  at  the  same  time 
rendered  me  angry,  for  the  more  violent  they  became  the 
angrier  I  got.  Go  to  it,  gol  darn  ye,  says  I  to  myself.  You 
want  to  play  hell,  do  you?  Go  on  then,  gol  darn  you,  go  on? 
Who's  stopping  you? 

It  was  a  wild,  wierd  scene;  enough  to  terrify  anyone.  1 
heard  a  sailor  say  that  this  was  only  a  catspaw.  Some  sailors 
will  say  anything.  I  sat  down  on  the  boiler  grating,  which 
was  otherwise  deserted,  holding  on  to  the  bars  for  dear  life, 
and  receiving  the  genial  warmth  from  the  fire  below.  The 
vessel  would  sportively  keel  over  to  one  side  as  far  as  she 
could  without  tipping  over,  then  she  would  slowly  arise  to 
an  even  keel  and  flop  over  on  the  other  side.  She  was 
having  rare  sport.  Now  she  would  point  her  nose  to  the  sky 
and  make  a  grab  for  something  up  there,  but  not  getting  it, 
down  she  would  squash  back  into  the  water,  like  a  tub.  Gods, 
what  waves  those  were!  They  must  have  been  all  of  forty 
feet  high!  Mighty  mean  and  spiteful  they  seemed  to  me, 
showing  their  white  teeth,  and  hissing  like  a  den  of  rattlers. 

I  wonder  who  the  chap  was  who  wrote  that  touching 
lullaby:  "Rocked  in  the  Cradle  of  the  Deep?"  I'll  bet  he  never 
saw  the  deep.  Probably  he  was  in  a  house-boat  at  the  time, 
or  out  with  his  girl  in  a  rowboat  during  a  squall.  Wish  he 
was  here  on  this  rocking  cradle,  and  see  how  he  would  like 
it!  He  would  not  sing  very  loud  or  bass-like,  I  am  sure. 

To  be  sure,  life  on  the  ocean  wave  is  a  gay  thing!  It's 
lots  of  fun  to  be  shot  from  one  side  of  a  ship  to  the  other,  to 


163 

be  tossed  up  and  down,  to  be  spun  around  like  a  top  and  to 
be  put  through  all  kinds  of  maneuvers!  Yes,  it's  lots  of  fun 
if  you  can  see  others  doing  it,  but  not  if  you  are  doing  it 
yourself. 

As  I  sat  there  on  the  grating,  thinking  all  kinds  ol 
thoughts,  one  big  spiteful  billow  made  a  bee-line  for  me,  and 
after  jumping  clean  over  the  side  of  the  ship  dropped  down 
on  me  and  nearly  strangled  me.  What  a  deluge  of  green 
water  it  was!  I  thought  there  never  would  be  an  end  to  it 
and  I  expected  that  my  time  had  come;  but  I  held  on  to  the 
grating  like  grim  death.  I  had  sense  enough  for  that.  Had 
I  let  go,  or  been  forced  to  let  go,  I  would  most  likely  have 
been  hurled  overboard  and  would  have  furnished  a  square 
meal  for  the  crabs  and  fishes.  A  good  deal  of  the  water  of 
the  wave  that  inundated  me  jumped  below  into  the  boiler- 
room,  but  the  most  of  it  went  over  the  side  when  the  ship 
rolled. 

Captain  Marryatt  and  Clark  Russell  were  the  best  de- 
lineators of  ocean  life  that  England  has  ever  produced,  that  is 
to  say,  according  to  my  way  of  thinking.  Captain  Marryatt, 
who  died  many  years  ago,  described  the  English  naval  service, 
the  fighting  ships,  home  and  foreign  ports,  the  seamen,  offi- 
cers, etc.,  as  they  had  never  been  described  before. 

Clark  Russell,  who  died  only  a  year  or  two  ago,  wrote 
of  matters  pertaining  to  the  sea  also,  but  in  a  different  way. 
He  had  been  in  the  merchant  service  and  wrote  of  it. 

He  entered  the  merchant  service  at  the  age  of  thirteen 
and  followed  the  sea  until  twenty-one,  when  he  took  to  sea- 
yarning.  As  a  writer  of  sea  stories  no  one  excelled  him,  not 
even  Captain  Marryatt,  for  both  were  masters  in  their  way. 
Strange  to  relate,  Clark  Russell  was  not  an  Englishman,  but 
an  American  by  birth.  He  was  born  in  New  York  City  in 
1844  and  his  father,  Henry  Russell,  was  a  well-known  song 
writer,  composer  of  the  song  "Cheer  Boys,  Cheer,"  and  others. 

Clark  Russell  depicted  the  sea  as  it  is,  with  all  of  its  hor- 
rors and  all  of  its  beauties.  He  loved  the  sea  and  wrote  of  it  so 
minutely  and  well  that  one  can  see  it  in  all  its  moods.  He 


164 

was  a  wonderful  artist — a  master.  So  well  and  truly  did  he 
depict  the  hardships  and  sufferings  of  English  sailors,  that 
the  English  Government  took  heed,  and  enacted  laws  which 
have  ameliorated  Jack's  condition  materially.  Other  English 
writers  did  the  same,  but  Clark  Russell  was  their  master,  the 
master  of  them  all,  the  Shakespeare  of  the  sea.  His  sea 
tales,  such  as  the  "Wreck  of  the  Grosvenor,"  "The  Frozen 
Pirate,"  "Life  of  Lord  Nelson,"  "John  Holdsworth,  Chief 
Mate,"  etc.,  are  worth  reading. 

It  is  hard  to  define  wherein  the  power  of  a  great  artist 
lies  but,  I  believe,  it  consists  in  fidelity  to  nature.  Clark 
Russell  used  nature  and  wove  around  it  such  a  web  of 
romance  that  one  cannot  help  but  admire  as  one  reads,  know- 
ing all  the  time  that  it  is  but  romance  told  in  an  artistic, 
inimitable  way.  Russell  confines  his  descriptions  to  the 
English  maritime  service,  and  it  is  plain  to  be  seen  that  his 
sympathies  are  wholly  English. 

Will  I  be  believed  when  I  make  the  assertion  that  the 
United  States  has  produced  a  sea  writer  as  great  as  Clark 
Russell?  This  seems  a  bold  assertion  to  make,  but  it  is  true. 
I  refer  to  Dana,  who  wrote  "Two  Years  Before  the  Mast." 
Dana  was  a  Boston  chap,  a  student  at  Harvard,  who  had  studied 
so  much  that  his  eyesight  and  health  had  became  impaired. 
He  was  advised  by  his  physician  to  take  a  sea  voyage,  and 
although  of  well  to  do  parents,  he  shipped  before  the  mast  on 
a  bark  called  "The  Pilgrim,"  which  sailed  from  Boston  for 
California.  The  voyage  was  a  long  and  severe  one,  and  Dana 
suffered  many  hardships,  but  he  was  game  and  overcame 
them  all. 

His  trials  and  tribulations  on  the  Pacific  Coast  were 
many,  too,  for  his  vessel  went  a  hide  droghing,  as  it  was 
called  (hide  gathering  along  the  Coast),  and  Dana  did  his 
share  of  the  nasty  work,  but  he  performed  it  manfully.  Nor 
was  this  all  that  he  did.  He  kept  a  diary  or  log,  as  sailors 
call  it,  and  gave  a  faithful  and  realistic  account  of  the  voy- 
age after  it  was  over.  His  descriptions  of  the  harbors  along 
the  Pacific  Coast  from  San  Diego  to  San  Francisco  are  so 


165 

accurate  and  realistic,  that  they  are  accepted  as  authentic 
today,  though  there  have  been  changes.  His  descriptions  o'f 
life  aboard  "The  Pilgrim,"  are  clever  and  vivid.  So  great  is 
this  work  of  Dana's,  that  Clark  Russell,  who  was  born  at 
about  the  time  that  Dana  died,  in  his  own  books  declares  that 
it  is  the  best,  most  painstaking  and  careful  sea  tale  that  ever 
was  written.  Praise  from  a  master  is  praise  indeed. 

Dana's  book  did  for  the  American  merchant  service  what 
Clark  Russell's  did  for  the  English.  It  disclosed  abuses 
which  were  remedied  by  law.  The  American  sailor  has  much 
to  thank  Dana  for.  Though  his  lot  may  still  be  a  hard  one,  it 
is  not  as  bad  as  it  was.  American  critics  will  still  tell  you 
that  "the"  American  novel  has  not  yet  been  written.  Why? 
Dana's  great  book  has  been  a  classic  for  fifty  years  and  more, 
not  only  in  the  United  States,  but  in  all  other  English-speak- 
ing countries. 

Were  there  to  be  any  more  waves  like  the  one  that  soaked 
me?  I  wasn't  at  all  certain  and  in  fear  that  there  might  be 
and  that  I  might  meet  with  disaster,  I  concluded  to  go  below. 
I  thought  it  would  be  a  good  idea  to  go  direct  to  my  berth 
to  dry  my  clothes  and  thaw  them  out,  for  I  was  shivering 
with  the  damp  and  the  cold.  I  don't  think  there  was  another 
passenger  on  deck  besides  myself,  for  all  were  snugly  housed 
below.  I  saw  none  at  any  rate. 

To  get  below,  though,  was  not  so  easy,  for  the  vessel 
was  unsteady,  and  plunging  and  rolling  frightfully.  When  I 
saw  what  I  deemed  a  good  opportunity,  I  made  a  rush  for  the 
companionway,  the  door  of  which  was  closed  tight  and  housed 
in  carefully  to  prevent  the  seas  from  descending  below,  and 
when  I  gained*  it  after  a  deal  of  trouble,  I  opened  the  door  at 
the  right  time  and  rushed  below. 

What  a  miserable  hole  the  steerage  was  just  then! 
Lamps  were  lit  to  heighten  the  gloom,  air  and  daylight  were 
excluded,  the  woodwork  was  creaking  and  groaning  at  a  sad 
rate,  there  was  a  rolling  from  side  to  side  of  articles  that  had 
not  been  properly  secured,  and  almost  everyone  was  in  bed 


1GG 

with  not  a  few  very  sick.  Mr.  Artist,  if  you  were  to  paint 
a  picture  like  this,  do  you  think  the  public  would  like  it? 

I  went  to  bed  in  my  damp  clothes,  for  I  wished  to  dry 
them  that  way.  I  slept  off  and  on  for  two  or  three  days  and 
nights,  eating  nothing  except  a  few  ship's  biscuits,  and  hating 
to  get  up.  From  the  movements  of  the  vessel  I  judged  that 
the  weather  was  still  stormy,  but  the  timbers  were  not  creak- 
ing so  much.  I  felt  like  going  on  deck  but  had  not  the  ambi- 
tion to  do  so.  It  was  difficult  for  me  to  arise. 

Finally,  I  concluded  to  make  an  effort,  anyway,  for  I  felt 
that  I  would  be  better  off  upstairs  than  below.  My  head  felt 
so  heavy,  and  what  an  effort  it  was  to  climb  out  of  my  berth. 
I  managed  to  get  on  deck,  somehow,  and  the  marine  picture 
that  was  presented  to  my  gaze  was  still  a  wild  one.  The 
wind  had  gone  down  considerably,  but  the  waves  were  still 
high  and  angry,  rolling  in  every  direction  in  dark  masses, 
and  curling  in  foamy  crests;  this,  though,  was  the  aftermath 
of  the  storm.  Quite  a  few  .of  the  hardier  passengers  were  on 
deck  at  this  time,  promenading,  but  ninety  out  of  a  hundred 
were  below  in  bed;  sick,  probably. 

This  was  Thursday,  and  we  had  been  out  about  six  days. 
Thus  we  had  four  more  days  to  put  in.  Mighty  long,  weari- 
some days  and  nights  they  were  to  look  forward  to. 

Bright  and  early  on  the  tenth  day  we  were  to  see  land. 
I  was  out  of  my  berth  and  on  deck  before  sunrise  that  day, 
for  I  had  not  slept  well.  Soon  after  I  gained  the  deck  I  saw 
a  beautiful  sunrise,  and  I  was  not  sorry  that  I  had  arisen. 
The  day  promised  to  be  a  fair  one;  fleecy  white  clouds  hung 
inert  in  the  air,  the  skies  were  delightfully  blue,  and  a  stiff, 
steady  breeze  was  blowing.  We  were  nearing  the  coast  of 
Europe  by  this  time,  but  not  a  sign  of  land  could  I  see.  I  did 
see  a  dim  haze  at  the  edge  of  the  horizon  straight  ahead, 
which  a  passenger  told  me  was  land,  but  I  believed  that  he 
didn't  know  what  he  was  talking  about.  After  breakfast  I 
came  up  on  deck  again  but  no  land  was  visible. 

At  about  9  a.  m.  I  saw  some  dark  objects  rising  above  the 
mists  right  ahead  of  us,  and  this  everyone  said  was  land.  It 


1G7 

was  land,  it  was  land,  thank  the  Lord!  To  say  that  I  was 
happy  won't  express  my  feelings,  for,  like  all  the  other  pas- 
sengers, I  grew  enthusiastic  and  felt  like  dancing  and  singing. 
Quite  a  number  of  the  Scotch  passengers,  male  and  female, 
formed  groups  and  began  to  sing  the  songs  of  their  native 
land,  and  the  Irish  passengers  did  the  same.  Many  a  furtive 
tear  of  joy  and  happiness  was  wiped  away  I  noticed.  As  for 
me,  I  felt  like  hugging  some  one.  I  realized  how  Columbus 
and  his  crew  must  have  felt  when  they  sighted  land  again 
after  their  eventful  voyage  to  America.  I'll  bet  a  dollar  to  a 
doughnut  though,  that  not  a  one  of  them  felt  happier  than  I 
did  when  I  saw  the  shores  of  Europe.  They  could  not  have 
felt  happier. 

And  the  land  straight  ahead  of  us  that  we  were  steering 
for,  of  all  lands,  was  old  Ireland,  the  Emerald  Isle,  the  Ever 
Faithful  Isle.  I  could  scarcely  realize  it.  What,  that  land 
Ireland,  the  country  th'at  I  had  read  so  much  of,  heard  so 
much  of,  seen  acted  in  plays,  read  of  in  stories  and  in  poetry! 
Could  it  be  possible?  I  had  seen  Irish  men  and  Irish  women 
by  the  million  in  my  own  country  and  was  familiar  with  their 
ways  and  habits.  This  is  where  they  all  originally  came  from! 
Well,  well,  well!  I  threw  up  my  cap  feebly  in  joy  and 
ecstasy.  Some  did  worse  fool  tricks  than  tha.t. 

The  old  Furnessia  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  land,  and 
now  we  could  make  out  mountains  plainly;  tall,  dark  and 
frowning  they  were  and  timberless,  but  green  on  top  with 
verdure  of  some  sort. 

We  sailed  pretty  close  to  the  land  and  could  see  things 
plainly  now.  When  we  got  up  quite  close,  the  vessel's  prow 
was  turned  northward  and  then  along  the  coast  we  skirted. 

The  coast  was  irregular,  being  indented  by  bays,  rivers 
and  watercourses,  causing  gaps  in  the  cliffs  every  few  miles. 
The  voyage  now  seemed  like  a  holiday  excursion,  for  the 
weather  was  beautiful  and  there  was  something  to  see  be- 
sides sky  and  water.  Everyone  crowded  to  the  rail  or  to 
other  vantage  points  from  whence  to  view  the  scenery.  The 


1C8 

past   ten    days   and    nights   of   misery    were   forgotten — were 
gone  clean  out  of  mind  now. 

We  steamed  along  for  an  hour  or  two  until  we  came  to 
the  extreme  north  of  Ireland,  where  the  vessel  steamed  into 
a  narrow  strait  which  separated  a  small  island  from  the 
main  land.  This  island  was  called  Tory  Isle.  The  strait 
was  so  narrow  that  we  could  see  the  land  plainly  at  either 
side  of  us.  What  a  romantic  little  island  Tory  Isle  is.  At 
one  end  of  it,  facing  the  sea,  stands  a  cute  and  quaint  light- 
house, and  near  the  side  we  were  passing,  I  saw  a  vegetable 
garden  in  which  vegetables  were  growing.  Those  green 
growing  plants,  how  they  did  entrance  me!  How  I  would 
have  liked  to  take  a  run  ashore  to  procure  a  few  of  them! 
Oh,  give  me  the  land;  the  sailors  can  have  the  sea;  the  land 
is  Heaven;  the  sea  is  Hell. 

Tory  Isle  is  not  more  than  a  few  miles  in  extent  and 
toward  the  latter  end  of  it,  as  we  drew  near,  we  saw  huge 
and  jagged  cliffs  that  were  torn  and  riven  into  all  kinds  of 
shapes  by  the  action  of  the  elements.  Surges  had  thundered 
against  them  for  centuries,  time  had  changed  their  color,  and 
the  winds  and  cold  had  hardened  them.  They  seemed  quaint, 
and  in  one  place  the  water  had  eaten  right  through  the  rocks, 
forming  an  arch  through  which  the  ocean  could  be  seen  be- 
yond. 

Soon  after  dinner — no  one  stayed  below  long — we  entered 
a  spacious  bay  and  let  go  the  anchor.  We  were  off  Moville,  a 
town  in  the  north  of  Ireland  where  the  Irish  passengers  were 
to  be  set  ashore,  and  from  which  they  could  travel  to  any 
part  of  Ireland  by  railroad  or  other  conveyance. 

After  our  vessel  had  anchored  we  noticed  a  little  steam- 
boat coming  straight  for  us,  and  as  she  drew  near  we  could 
see  that  she  was  a  fair-sized  tug  of  some  sort.  She  soon 
made  fast  alongside  and  in  a  jiffy  our  passengers  for  Ireland, 
bag  and  baggage,  were  taken  aboard.  There  were  so  many 
passengers  and  so  much  baggage  put  aboard  the  little  vessel, 
finally,  that  there  was  scarcely  room  enough  to  swing  a  cat. 
in;  but  who  cared  for  that?  The  Irish  passengers  were 


1G9 

practically  on  Irish  soil  and  their  hearts  overflowed.  As  the 
little  vessel  moved  off  from  us,  how  they  did  cheer  and  shout 
and  wave  their  handkerchiefs!  The  women  were  more  ex- 
cited than  the  men;  they  were  positively  crazy  with  joy. 
Well,  good  bye  and  luck  to  you,  neighbors,  I  hope  you'll  have 
a  good  time  on  the  Old  Sod. 

We  hove  up  the  anchor  just  as  soon  as  possible  and 
steered  for  Scotland,  which  was  not  far  away.  We  went 
close  to  Cantyre  and  the  isles  of  Arran  and  Bute  off  Scot- 
land, and  the  scenery  that  unfolded  itself  to  our  gaze  was 
enchanting.  Well-wooded  lands  we  went  by,  that  were  wild 
and  picturesque,  and  famous  in  song  and  story,  in  fact,  an 
air  of  romance  and  beauty  seemed  to  hover  over  all  these 
places.  What  a  history  is  theirs!  They  have  seen  kings, 
courtiers  and  nobles;  peasants,  Highland  rovers,  cattle 
lifters,  braw  lads  and  sonsie  lasses.  What  have  they  not  seen 
in  all  the  stages  of  their  life?  Such  scenes  compensated  us 
for  all  the  hardships  we  had  endured.  After  storm  comes 
sunshine,  usually. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  Furnessia  was  dropping  her 
anchor  once  more,  this  time  off  Greenock,  Scotland.  Quickly 
a  little  tender  came  up  to  take  us  all  ashore.  We  went  aboard 
the  tender  and  in  a  very  few  minutes  were  dumped  ashore, 
bag  and  baggage,  on  the  Princess  Pier,  Greenock,  which  is 
a  sloping,  stone-paved  embankment  like  a  Mississippi  levee. 

As  we  set  foot  ashore  cabmen  stood  about,  bowing, 
scraping,  and  touching  their  hats,  but  saying  never  a  word. 
They  were  giving  us  silent  but  decided  hints  to  take  a  car- 
riage ride.  Newsboys  were  there  too,  shouting  their  wares 
in  language  that  I  could  not  understand  a  word  of.  They 
were  selling  ''Morning  Nips"  and  "Evening  Bladders,"  but 
these  were  not  the  names  their  newspapers  bore.  One  little 
shaver  came  up  to  me  and  importuned  me  to  buy  a  paper, 
but  I  could  not  make  out  what  he  was  saying  or  selling.  His 
language  was  Greek  to  me.  I  told  the  little  fellow  that  I  did 
not  care  to  purchase  just  then,  and  when  he  heard  me  speak 
he  stared.  He  shouted  something  to  the  other  newsboys — 


170 

probably  that  a  greenhorn  had  landed  among  them — and 
then  there  was  a  gathering  around  me,  a  shouting  and  a  de- 
risive yelling.  It  embarassed  me  and  rendered  me  angry  as 
well.  I  felt  like  giving  a  few  of  those  kids  a  kick  in  the 
pants  for  their  freshness,  but  the  more  you  fool  with  some 
kids  the  worse  they  get,  so  I  let  them  alone  and  walked  on 
unconcernedly,  saying  not  another  word. 

By  this  time  all  the  passengers  were  wending  their  way 
into  the  custom  house  building  which  stood  near  by.  In  it 
customs  officers  were  waiting  to  examine  our  baggage. 


CHAPTER  XV. 
THE    DEBUT    IN    SCOTLAND. 

The  customs  building  is  a  very  large  one  and  is  capable 
of  containing  a  great  number  of  people  with  their  baggage, 
and  I  noticed  a  great  many  of  the  Furnessia's  passengers 
standing  beside  their  baggage,  awaiting  the  appearance  of  the 
custom's  officials.  These  were  on  hand  promptly,  moving 
from  group  to  group,  examining  things  and  putting  some  sort 
of  hyroglyphics  on  bags,  portmanteaus,  trunks,  boxes,  etc., 
as  the  articles  might  be.  A  goodlooking  official  in  due  course 
came  up  to  me  and  asked  where  my  baggage  was.  I  told 
him  I  hadn't  any.  He  regarded  me  in  a  sort  of  suspicious 
way,  jerked  his  head  upward  then  backward  without  saying 
a  word.  This  I  accepted  as  a  hint  to  slope.  Out  of  the  cus- 
tomhouse I  went,  following  some  of  the  other  passengers 
whose  baggage  had  been  examined,  to  a  railroad  depot  ad- 
joining the  customhouse.  I  did  not  realize  that  I  was  in  a 
railroad  depot  until  I  looked  around  carefully. 

What  a  funny  railroad  station  it  was.  On  one  side  of  it 
there  was  a  brick  wall  with  business  advertisements  on  it, 
such  as,  "Bovril,"  "Oxo,"  etc.,  the  meaning  of  which  I  did  riot 


171 

comprehend;  and  on  the  other  side  was  a  buffet,  luggage 
rooms,  ticket  office,  waiting  rooms,  etc.,  for  the  use  and  con- 
venience of  the  passengers.  There  were  signs  over  these 
places  designating  what  they  were. 

Between  the  two  walls  which  were  far  apart  and  roofed 
over,  were  a  series  of  railroad  tracks,  and  on  one  of  these 
tracks  stood  a  special  train,  made  up  to  convey  the  Furnes- 
sia's  passengers  to  Glasgow.  Glasgow  is  about  twenty-five 
miles  distant  from  Greenock. 

I  had  a  good  look  at  the  railroad  train  and  then  I  stared 
and  wondered.  If  it  was  not  made  up  of  a  lot  of  oldfashioned 
stage  coaches  strung  on  wheels,  you  may  smother  me.  What 
queer  contrivances  they  were.  Say,  a  fellow  can  see  some 
mighty  queer  things  when  he  has  no  gun  with  him.  Stage 
coaches  strung  on  wheels,  eh!  I  saw  no  blind  baggage,  no 
bumpers,  no  rods,  no  brakebeams — nothing.  How  or  where 
is  a  fellow  to  beat  his  .way  on  such  contrivances?  It  cannot 
be  done,  in  any  shape,  form  or  manner.  To  say  that  I  was 
disappointed  will  not  express  my  feelings;  I  was  totally  dis- 
heartened, in  despair.  I  now  remembered  what  Billy  had 
told  me,  and  realized  that  he  had  told  me  the  truth.  The 
bumpers  were  nothing  more  than  mere  round  disks  of  about 
the  size  of  a  dinner  plate.  I  saw  no  brakebeams  at  the  wheels 
underneath;  not  a  sign  of  a  blind  baggage  or  other  platform 
that  I  could  ride  on;  no  way  of  climbing  on  top  of  a  coach, 
and  n'er  a  rod.  A  fellow  who  can  beat  such  a  combination 
as  that  will  have  to  render  himself  invisible.  What  a  fool  I 
was  to  leave  my  native  land. 

So  disappointed  and  down-hearted  was  I  that  I  felt  like 
returning  home  at  once  on  the  Purnessia,  but  I  did  not  have 
the  return  passage  price  in  my  possession.  I  had  about  fif- 
teen dollars  and  that  was  all;  the  return  fare  being  nearly 
double  that.  Well,  I  guess  I  am  in  for  it,  thinks  I.  My  ticket 
from  New  York  to  Glasgow,  though,  was  to  include  the  train 
ride  from  Greenock  to  Glasgow,  so  I  would  not  have  to  beat 
my  way  just  yet,  anyhow.  That  depot,  too,  got  my  goat.  Never 
had  I  seen  anything  like  it  in  all  my  travels,  and  they  had 


172 

been  many.  Everything  seemed  so  new  and  strange  to  me 
that  I  felt  like  a  fish  out  of  water,  as  if  I  had  landed  in  some 
new  world.  Leisurely  I  walked  along  the  train  and  had  a  look 
at  the  locomotive.  Locomotive  is  too  big  a  word  for  tha.t 
little  thing.  There  was  a  fair  sized  boiler  mounted  on  strong, 
but  slender  wheels,  and  that  was  all.  There  was  no  cab  for 
the  engineer  or  fireman,  only  a  two-foot  space  or  so  for  them 
to  stand  on,  which  could  be  covered  over  with  a  tarpaulin  in 
bad  weather.  Well,  well,  well!  Mighty  queer  world  this. 
That  engine  looked  like  a  toy  to  me  and  I  wondered  where 
she  would  gain  strength  enough  to  move  that  long  train  of 
coaches.  After  all  the  passengers  had  had  their  baggage  ex- 
amined in  the  customhouse,  and  had  filed  into  the  railroad 
station,  everyone  was  allowed  to  enter  the  cars.  Every  car 
was  like  a  stagecoach,  opening  at  the  side;  and,  like  it,  could 
hold  about  eight  passengers;  four  on  a  side,  the  seats  being- 
divided  in  the  middle  to  hold  two  people  in  each  division. 
Overhead,  on  both  sides,  were  racks  to  hold  shawls,  parcels, 
valises  and  hand  baggage  generally. 

As  soon  as  the  coach  doors  were  opened,  I  made  a  sneak 
for  a  seat  next  to  a  window,  for  I  wanted  to  see  as  much  of 
the  scenery  as  I  could.  Seven  other  steerage  bucks  tollowed 
me  into  the  coach,  which  was  a  second  class  one,  I  believe. 

In  a  few  minutes  all  the  coach  doors  were  slammed  shut 
by  some  one  outside,  some  one  on  the  platform  blew  a  shrill 
blast  from  a  tin  whistle,  the  engine  gave  a  rat-like  squeak 
as  if  some  one  had  given  it  a  punch  in  the  ribs,  and  then  we 
were  off.  Slowly  we  started,  but  soon  were  going  like  a 
streak.  Could  that  little  contrivance  of  an  engine  go?  Could 
she?  Well,  I  should  remark.  She  could  go  some;  believe  me! 
Did  you  ever  see  a  tin  kettle  tied  to  a  dog's  tail  and  notice 
how,  as  the  dog  shot  along  the  old  kettle  bounced,  rattled  and 
clattered?  In  somewhat  similar  fashion  the  coaches  on  our 
train  bounced  and  clatter-clatter,  clattered,  and  when  they 
struck  a  frog  or  crossing,  gave  an  additional  bounce.  It  was 
rare  fun  and  lively  riding. 


173 

We  shot  by  farms,  fields,  woodlands,  glades  and  meadows, 
the  scenery  seeming  mighty  foreign  looking  to  me.  Every- 
thing was  so  different  from  what  I  had  been  used  to  seeing. 
I  felt  strange  and  queer  and  wanted  to  go  home.  I  noticed 
a  river  winding  its  way  along  and  asked  my  neighbor  in 
the  coach  if  he  could  tell  me  what  river  it  was.  "The  River 
Clyde,"  answered  he. 

"The  River  Clyde,"  echoed  I;  "you  mean  the  Clyde  River, 
don't  you?  What  is  the  idea  of  putting  the  cart  before  the 
horse  like  that?"  This  remark  got  my  neighbor  hot  and  he 
angrily  said  to  me;  "You're  in  a  civilized  country  young  man, 
where  they  talk  English  and  not  a  bastard  language  as  they 
do  in  the  States.  If  you  stay  in  this  country  long  you'll  learn 
something." 

His  remarks  got  me  off  and  I  got  pre.tty  hot  in  the  collar. 
"So,  you  don't  think  United  States  is  good  English,  eh? 
Where  will  you  find  better?  The  educated  and  refined  people 
in  the  United  States  talk  as  pure  English  as  anyone.  Of 
course  we  have  our  dialects  in  the  north,  south,  east  and 
west,  and  almost  every  American  city  has  a  vernacular  of  its 
own,  but  we  can  talk  English  all  right  if  we  want  to. 

"You  don't  know  what  Oxford  English  is." 

"I  don't,  eh?  Just  as  well  as  you  do.  What  kind  of  a 
language  do  the  London  cockneys  speak;  the  Brummagen 
chaps,  the  Lancashire  folks,  the  Irish,  the  Scotch  and  all  the 
others?  Each  has  an  accent  of  his  own  and  lots  of  them 
can't  understand  each  other.  How  does  that  argument  suit 
you?" 

"Oh,  you're  talking  through  your  hat;  you  don't  know 
what  you're  saying.  Better  cork  up!" 

"All  right,"  said  I,  turning  away  without  another  word. 
WThat  was  the  use  arguing  further  with  such  a  chap?  It  was 
the  Clyde  Valley  we  were  now  rolling  through — beg  pardon — • 
the  Valley  of  the  Clyde,  I  ought  to  say  if  I  wish  to  express 
myself  in  Oxford  English.  When  you  are  in  Rome,  I  suppose 
it  is  well  to  do  as  the  Romans  do,  if  you  can.  Oxford  English 
is  too  high-toned  for  me,  though,  so  I  shall  continue  to  talk 


174 

just  plain  United  States.  Those  who  want  Oxford  English 
will  find  it  in  the  Bible  and  other  good  books,  but  not  here. 

It  was  now  about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  an 
August  day;  there  were  Scottish  clouds  in  the  sky  through 
which  old  Sol  played  peek-a-boo,  and  the  scenery  was  diversi- 
fied, but  by  no  means  grand  or  sublime.  The  country  was 
rather  flat  with  mountains  in  the  dim  distance,  and  ship- 
yards along  the  river  bank  on  both  sides  of  the  stream.  The 
shipyards  were  enclosed  by  tall  brick  walls  to  keep  out 
strangers,  probably.  If  a  ship  is  Clyde  built,  it  seems  to  give 
her  a  good  reputation.  The  Scotch  are  thorough  and  con- 
scientious workmen  and  what  they  do,  they  usually  do  hon- 
estly and  well,  and,  cheaply,  too.  Maybe  that  is  why  so  many 
vessels  are  built  along  the  Clyde. 

Our  train  came  gradually  to  a  stop. 

What  place  is  this?  A  sign  on  the  railroad  station  says, 
"Paisley."  Ah,  this  is  the  place  where  the  Paisley  shawls 
are  made  and  where  Coates  and  others  have  their  big  spool 
cotton  factories.  The  streets  seemed  neat,  clean  and  well 
paved  with  stones,  and  the  town  seemed  a  busy,  yet  pretty 
one.  We  only  stopped  at  Paisley  a  second  or  two,  then  off 
we  clattered  again  for  Glasgow  which  was  not  more  than 
four  or  five  miles  away.  It  was  not  very  long  before  our 
train  rolled  into  Glasgow  and  stopped,  the  engine  puffing.  We 
had  landed  in  St.  Enoch  Station.  The  doors  were  invitingly 
opened  for  us  and  the  cry  was,  "all  out  for  Glasgow." 

When  I  stepped  down  and  into  the  station,  I  stared  in  a 
bewildered  and  perplexed  way,  not  knowing  which  way  to 
turn,  for  the  depot  was  a  huge  one.  I  followed  the  crowd, 
however.  St.  Enoch  Station  is  an  immense  structure,  and  it 
is  roofed  over,  paved,  full  of  railroad  tracks,  booths,  ticket 
offices,  waiting  rooms,  restaurants,  news  stands,  luggage 
(baggage)  rooms,  etc.  It  is  as  big  as  the  Grand  Central  Sta- 
tion in  New  York. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
GLASGOW. 

I  walked  leisurely  through  the  station,  followed  the 
crowd,  and  felt  as  if  I  were  in  a  pipe  dream.  When  I  got  out 
into  the  street  and  looked  around  me,  I  stared  like  a  stuck 
pig.  I  didn't  know  whether  I  was  on  the  earth,  in  heaven  or 
in  hades.  Everything  was  so  strange.  The  skies  seemed  un- 
familiar, the  houses,  the  stores,  the  people,  the  vehicles,  the 
dogs,  the  roadways,  the  sidewalks — everything  seemed 
strange.  My  goodness  gracious  what  a  funny  feeling  came 
over  me.  I  couldn't  begin  to  tell  you  how  funny  I  felt;  and 
how  can  I  describe  w'hat  I  saw?  Where  shall  I  begin  and 
where  shall  I  end?  The  buildings  were  all  of  brick  or  stone, 
with  Mansard  roofs,  and  tile  chimneys  in  a  cluster  on  top. 
They  were  plain,  strong  and  substantial  but  in  no  way  hand- 
some or  ornamental.  On  the  ground  floor  of  these  buildings 
were  stores,  as  a  general  thing,  and  in  the  upper  stories  flats 
for  dwelling  purposes. 

The  people,  ah  the  people!  They  seemed  a  queer  lot. 
The  streets  were  alive  with  them.  I  never  had  the  least  idea 
there  were  so  many  Scotch  folks  alive.  There  were  hundreds 
of  them  here;  thousands  of  them;  tens  of  thousands  of  them; 
all  were  moving  about  in  a  sedate  and  solemn  way,  and  were 
attired  in  queer  togs,  and  nearly  all  of  them  wore  on  their 
heads  Tarn  o'  Shanter  caps,  sizing  me  up  as  a  greenhorn,  no 
doubt,  whilst  others  looked  at  me  in  a  calm  and  stolid  way. 

But  look  at  those  rigs,  will  you?  Did  .you  ever  see  the 
like  of  them?  Here  came  along  a  little  bit  of  a  two- wheeled 
cart,  dragged  by  a  long-eared  little  donkey,  and  a  sign  on  the 
cart  informed  one  that  it  was  a  "Sweet  Milk"  cart.  Well, 
may  I  be  blowed!  I  kept  my  eyes  rolling  to  see  if  a  "Sour 


17G 

Milk"  cart  would  come  along,  but  I  saw  none.  I  saw  rigs 
dragged  along  by  Shetland  ponies  in  which  people  rode,  but 
they  ought  to  have  been  ashamed  of  themselves  to  make  such 
little  beasts  haul  them  about.  Why,  the  ponies  were  scarcely 
knee  high  to  a  grasshopper,  though  they  seemed  rather  sturdy 
and  wore  long  manes  and  tails;  but  how  they  could  pull  such 
comparatively  heavy  rigs  surprised  me.  I  felt  like  telling 
the  people  in  those  rigs  to  get  out  and  walk,  and  not  make  a 
holy  show  of  themselves. 

Wagons  came  along  that  looked  like  New  Orleans  floats, 
long,  flat  wagonbeds  on  wheels  with  no  sides  to  them.  These 
were  dragged  by  big,  heavy  draft  horses  that  seemed  of  a 
gentle,  noble  breed.  Fine  equipages  rolled  by,  in  which  I 
noticed  well  attired  ladies  and  gentlemen.  The  harness  and  trap- 
pings of  the  horses  were  of  silver,  gold  or  brass,  and  seemed 
substantial  and  costly.  A  coachman  drove  the  horses  and 
there  was  usually  a  footman  behind.  The  stores  riveted  my 
attention  considerably,  but  really  I  didn't  know  who  or  what 
to  look  at  first,  there  was  so  many  things  to  see.  It  was  all 
like  a  continuous  performance  to  me,  but  more  so,  for  it  was 
a  continual  and  not  a  continuous  performance. 

What  queer  names  there  were  over  the  stores. 

There  was  MacFeely,  MacPherson,  MacQuiddy,  Gregory, 
Ferguson,  Alexander,  Allison,  Blair,  Scrimgeour,  Blackstock, 
Morrison,  Stevenson,  Colquhoun,  Bartholomew,  MacAlpin, 
Wilson,  Wilkie,  Duguid  and  others,  which  I  made  a  note  of 
in  my  notebook. 

The  stores  themselves  were  worth  noticing.  Their  show 
windows  were  fitted  up  fine,  and  were  well-stocked  with  goods 
that  were  well  displayed,  but  I  noticed  that,  as  a  rule,  there 
were  more  goods  in  the  windows  than  in  the  stores  them- 
selves. Such  stores  were  putting  on  a  bold  front,  it  seemed 
to  me. 

A  butcher-shop  they  called  a  "Fleshers";  a  dry  goods 
store  they  called  a  "Drapers";  a  furnishing-goods  store  was 
called  a  "Haberdashery";  etc.  Say,  pardner,  give  me  a  good 
hard  pinch,  will  you?  I  want  to  know  whether  I  am  alive  or 


177 

dead.  I  sure  have  landed  in  another  world.  I  am  feeling 
mighty  funny;  kick  me,  will  you?  As  to  the  contents  of 
these  stores.  Oh!  In  a  high-toned  fish  store  on  individual 
platters,  I  saw  fish  labeled  salmon,  turbot,  hake,  plaice, 
megrims,  cod,  herring,  cockles,  lemons,  etc.,  and  they  all 
looked  mighty  good  to  me,  notwithstanding  the  strange 
names  they  bore. 

In  a  candy  store  I  saw  Edinburgh  Rock,  filshills,  voice- 
pastiles,  chocolate  bouncers  and  frosty  railroads,  but  no  rail- 
road spikes  or  iron.  Frosty  nailrods,  eh,  and  chocolate 
bouncers!  Well,  if  I  wasn't  getting  a  pretty  good  run  for 
my  money  you  may  call  me  anything  you  like.  Frosty  nail- 
rods?  May  I  be  blowed!  In  a  butcher-shop  I  saw  platters  of 
Hamburg  steak  labeled  "Mince,"  which  came  in  several  grades 
at  diffierent  prices.  The  cheapest  kind  was  labled  4d,  (eight 
cents),  and  probably  came  off  the  horns;  the  next  grade  was 
labeled  Gd,  (twelve  cents),  and  may  have  come  off  the  neck 
or  tail;  and  the  eight  pence  variety  was  good  stuff,  no  doubt, 
that  came  from  good  parts  of  the  animal.  All  the  other  meats 
in  that  shop  was  very  fine.  Immense  steaks,  chops,  cuts  of 
fine  beef,  mutton,  pork  and  lamb;  the  choicest  of  hams  and 
bacon,  etc.,  did  I  see.  The  prices  of  the  prime  meats  were 
high,  I  noticed;  from  a  shilling  a  pound  (twenty-five  cents), 
upward.  The  meat  was  home-bred  and  stall  fed.  It  all  was  fine- 
superfine.  In  bakery  windows  I  noticed  short-bread,  oat- 
cake, and  scones  (pronounced,  "scorns"),  .that  were  as  big 
as  an  elephant's  ear;  they  sold  for  two  cents  each;  and  a 
variety  of  strange  bread,  cakes,  etc.,  the  names  of  which  I 
could  not  take  down  for  they  were  not  labeled.  The  heedless 
bakers  took  it  for  granted  no  doubt,  that  everyone  knew  the 
name  of  their  goods. 

The  tobacco  store  windows,  as  a  rule,  were  fitted  up  fine 
and  tempting.  Pipes  and  smokers'  articles  of  all  kinds  and 
varieties  were  there,  heaped  up  in  profusion;  there  were  queer 
looking  cigars  and  all  kinds  of  tobacco,  too,  but  the  prices  of 
the  tobacco  seemed  to  me  to  be  high.  It  was  sold  by  the 
ounce,  from  eight  cents  an  ounce  upward,  and  was  weighed  out 


178 

in  bulk,  though  sold  in  packages,  also.  There  was  Latakia 
tobacco  on  tap  there,  English  Birds-eye,  Baillie  Nicol  Jarvie, 
Tarn  O'Shanter,  Shag,  Starboard  Navy,  Aromatic  Mixture, 
and  many  other  kinds,  far  too  numerous  to  mention. 

The  clothing  stores  made  fine  displays,  some  in  ready 
made  goods  and  others  in  cloths  only.  An  elegant  ready 
made  suit  of  serviceable  tweed  could  be  had  for  eight  dollars; 
or  one  would  be  made  to  order  for  ten  dollars.  As  I  viewed 
the  latter,  I  was  awfully  tempted  to  go  in  and  be  fitted  for  a 
suit,  but  as  I  had  only  a  few  dollars  in  my  possession  I  deemed 
it  best  to  hold  on  to  what  I  had,  for  the  present.  I  had  only 
five  dollars  in  British  money,  anyway  at  the  time,  which  1  had 
exchanged  for  American  money  on  the  Furnessia,  with  the 
purser,  before  I  went  ashore. 

The  jewelry  stores  interested  me  as  much  as  any  of  the 
other  stores,  and  as  I  regarded  the  articles  of  vertu  in  them 
I  thought  what  a  fine  thing  it  is  to  be  well-to-do,  so  that  one 
can  purchase  what  one  fancies.  Here  was  jewelry  that  was 
distinctively  Scottish  in  design;  and  it  was  good  to  look  at. 
It  revealed  to  me  the  fact  that  the  Scottish  taste  is  an  excel- 
lent one,  for  not  only  is  it  substantial  and  sensible,  but  ex- 
quisite as  well.  It  is  as  exquisite  as  the  French,  with  a  char- 
acteristic of  its  own,  which  is  wholly  and  exclusively  Scottish. 
That  is  what  I  thought  as  I  gazed,  though  T  cannot  convey 
j.list  what  I  mean.  The  reader  will  have  to  .use  his  imagina- 
tion to  gather  my  meaning.  The  jewelry  was  distinctively 
Scottish  in  make  and  design  and  very  tasteful — that  is  all  I 
can  say. 

The  grocery  stores  were  well  stocked,  both  inside  and 
outside — crammed  I  may  say — with  goods.  There  were  jellies, 
jams  and  marmalades  done  up  in  packages  that  were  unfa- 
miliar to  me;  Danish  butter  from  Denmark,  which  is  about  as 
good  an  article  of  its  kind  as  can  be  had;  English  cheese; 
Irish  duck  eggs,  hams  and  bacon,  which  are  about  the  best 
that  can  be  had  anywhere,  the  world  over;  many  kinds  of 
farinaceous  foods,  provisions,  vegetables,  etc.  Everything 
displayed  had  a  distinctively  European  aspect. 


179 

No  one  can  gain  a  proper  idea  of  what  a  foreign  country 
is  like  unless  he  goes  there.  There  is  something  in  a  foreign 
atmosphere  even,  that  must  be  felt  to  be  properly  understood 
and  appreciated.  A  graphic  writer  can  convey  an  idea  to  you, 
but  he  cannot  put  the  real  thing  before  you  at  all.  You  must 
go  and  see  for  yourself,  and  feel  as  well. 

While  standing  in  front  of  a  grocery  store  window  deeply 
absorbed  in  observing  the  goods,  a  man  stepped  up  to  me  and 
lightly  and  lovingly  flicked  off  some  dirt  or  dust  from  the 
back  of  my  coat.  I  had  cleaned  my  coat  just  before  I  came  off 
the  ship,  so  had  no  idea  it  was  dirty.  I  took  the  coat  off  and 
examined  it,  but  I  could  see  nothing  amiss  with  it.  The  man 
who  had  been  so  kind  and  considerate  was  a  strong  and  well 
built  man  of  about  middle  height.  He  had  dark  eyes,  a  dark 
moustache,  and  was  quite  handsome.  He  was  not  at  all  well 
dressed,  though,  for  his  peajacket  was  turning  color,  and  his 
pants  and  vest  were  shabby.  On  his  head  was  perched  a  cute 
little  Glengarry  cap  with  a  cloth  button  on  top  of  it.  I  said 
to  the  man,  "thank  you,  sir;  you  are  very  kind." 

"Oh,  it  iss  nothing;  a  wee  bit  dirt,  just;  she  wull  take  it 
off." 

What  kind  of  talk  was  this?  I  stared.  She  will  take  it 
off?  Who  is  she?  The  stranger  came  up  close  to  me  and 
from  him  oozed  a  strong  odor  of  whiskey.  He  remarked  to 
me,  "she  would  like  to  hev  ta  penny.  She  is  droothy." 

Aha!  Sits  the  wind  in  that  quarter?  thinks  I;  this  chap 
is  trying  to  work  me  for  a  drink.  Kind  of  nervy  cuss.  I  asked 
him  where  he  came  from.  He  told  me  he  came  from  Colonsay; 
that  he  was  "Heelan";  that  "ta  feeshin  was  vera  bad  ta  noo"; 
that  he  had  come  to  Glesgie  to  find  work.  This  and  much 
more  did  he  tell  me  in  "Heelan"  Scotch  which  I  cannot  prop- 
erly reproduce  here,  for  it  isn't  my  own  language.  I  doubted 
the  chap's  statements.  I  think  he  was  a  bum,  a  sot,  too  lazy 
to  work.  His  plan  to  get  a  drink  was  a  good  one,  but  I  had 
seen  it  and  all  other  kinds  of  similar  games  worked  in  my 
own  country  before.  A  penny  was  not  much,  though,  so  I 


180 

gave  him  one,  whereupon  he  touched  his  cap,  said  "ta-ta," 
and  vanished. 

Well,  may  I  be  blowed,  thinks  I;  they're  up  to  snuff  in 
this  country,  sure. 

I  came  upon  some  very  busy  thoroughfares.  There  was 
Jamaica  street,  Argyle  street,  the  Trongate,  Gallowgate  street, 
and  others,  all  of  which  were  full  of  stores,  people,  vehicles 
and  traffic.  Argyle  street  impressed  me  as  being  the  main 
street,  for  it  was  lined  on  both  sides  with  high  class  stores 
in  which  wealthy  people  did  their  shopping.  The  same  may 
be  said  of  Sauchiehall  street.  Fine  equipages  rolled  along 
Argyle  street  in  which  sat  aristocratic  looking  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen, the  gentlemen  seeming  grave  and  handsome  and  the 
ladies  slight,  blonde  and  pretty. 

Trams  and  busses  rolled  by,  which  were  double-deckers, 
for  they  had  seats  below  in  a  glass  enclosed  compartment, 
and  a  spiral  stairway  at  the  rear  leading  up  to  an  upper  deck 
that  was  unenclosed,  and  which  contained  seats  for  passen- 
gers where  they  could  smoke  and  view  the  scenery  as  the 
vehicle  rolled  on.  While  walking  along  Jamaica  street  I  saw 
a  young  lady  sitting  on  the  sidewalk  and  a  female  companion 
standing  alongside  of  her,  urging  her  to  get  up.  I  stepped 
up  to  see  what  the  matter  was,  though  no  one  else  seemed 
to  take  the  least  notice  of  the  two,  and  I  asked  the  young 
lady  who  was  standing  up  if  I  could  be  of  any  assistance. 
She  either  did  not  understand  what  I  said  to  her  or  she  did 
not  wish  to,  for  she  made  no  reply.  The  lassie  sitting  on  the 
sidewalk  glared  at  me  and  then  I  perceived  that  she  was  as 
full  as  a  goat.  She  had  been  imbibing  too  much  hot  Scotch. 

"Can  I  be  of  any  assistance?"  I  again  asked  the  young 
woman  who  was  standing  guard.  She  turned  on  me  scorn- 
fully and  replied:  "Did  yer  nevah*  see  ah  larsie  fou?"  (did 
you  never  see  a  lassie  full?) 

No,  I  never  saw  one  as  full  as  that,  thought  I,  as  I  walked 
away  without  another  .word.  Tough  nuts  in  this  town,  both 
men  and  women,  thinks  I. 


181 

A  little  later  as  I  was  walking  along  Argyle  street,  two 
handsomely  dressed  young  ladies,  who  sized  me  up  as  a 
stranger,  stepped  up  to  me,  addressed  me  and  began  a  con- 
versation with  me.  I  asked  them  if  they  had  not  mistaken 
me  for  some  one  else,  but  they  only  smiled.  One  of  the 
ladies  was  Scotch  and  the  other  French,  and  it  was  the  Scotch . 
lady  who  did  all  the  talking,  for  possibly  the  French  one  was 
not  able  to  understand  or  speak  English  very  well. 

Both  were  decidedly  pretty  and  seemed  refined  in  man- 
ner and  speech,  and  were  tastefully  dressed.  They  seemed 
to  me  to  be  of  high  rank,  duchesses  maybe,  but  I  was  quickly 
undeceived.  Like  a  flash  the  notion  came  to  me  that  they 
were  street  walkers,  and  so  it  proved. 

The  Scottish  girl  had  not  delivered  herself  of  more  than 
a  sentence  or  two  when  she  asked  me  if  I  would  like  to  escort 
them  home.  I  replied  that  I  could  not  do  so  just  then,  for 
the  reason  that  I  was'  on  my  way  to  keep  an  appointment. 
She  did  not  believe  me  and  importuned  me  to  go  with  them, 
but  I  replied  that  I  could  not,  that  I  was  sorry  I  had  to  de- 
cline, but  that  I  hoped  I  would  have  the  pleasure  at  some 
other  time. 

Excuses  on  my  part  were  of  no  avail  though.  Both  in- 
sisted on  me  going  with  them  and  they  assured  1116  of  a  great 
many  things  that  I  cannot  repeat  here,  at  least  the  Scotch 
girl  did.  Then  she  coaxed  and  begged  me  and  evidently 
would  not  accept  "no"  for  an  answer.  I  became  impatient 
finally,  told  the  ladies  that  I  would  have  to  go  and  begged 
them  to  excuse  me. 

The  Scotch  girl  asked  me  for  a  crown  ($1.25),  which  I 
politely  but  firmly  refused. 

"Give  us  half  a  crown  then,"  asked  she.  I  firmly  but 
politely  refused  again. 

"Will  you  give  us  the  price  of  the  drinks,  then?" 

This  disgusted  me  and  I  walked  off.  The  two  girls  stood 
stock  still,  gazed  at  me  and  made  uncomplimentary  remarks 
about  me.  I  walked  on  hurriedly,  rather  ashamed.  Now, 


182 

what  do  you  think  of  all  this?  These  are  the  facts;  make 
your  own  comment. 

I  was  getting  hungry  by  this  time,  for  my  meals  on  board 
the  ship  this  day  had  been  light  ones.  Accordingly,  I  con- 
cluded to  find  a  restaurant  of  some  kind.  I  walked  to 
Jamaica  street  and  at  the  end  of  that  street  came  upon  a 
lofty,  stone  paved  embankment  that  extended  along  the  River 
Clyde.  This  embankment  is  a  mile  or  more  in  length  and  is 
called  the  Broomielaw.  Along  it  extend  wharves  and  ships, 
ship  basins,  landing  places  and  the  like,  and  it  is  in  fact  the 
main  embarcadero'  of  Glasgow,  although  there  are  some 
wharves  and  ships  on  the  other  side  of  the  river. 

Along  the  Broomielaw  nearly  all  the  wharves  are  en- 
closed, though  the  landing  places  of  the  excursion  steamers 
are  not.  Excursion  steamers  land  here  that  will  take  one 
to  the  Crinan  Canal,  to  Oban,  Ballachulish,  Fort  William, 
Fort  Augustus,  Inverness,  Caladonian  Canal,  Tobermory, 
Mallaig,  Kyle  of  Lochhalsh,  Portree,  Stornoway,  Mull,  Skye, 
Gairlock,  Ullapool,  Lochinver,  The  Hebrides  and  the  West 
Highlands.  One  line  of  steamers  will  take  passengers  to  any 
of  these  places,  for  an  advertisement  painted  on  the  wall  of 
this  company's  wharf  proclaims  the  fact. 

There  are  other  excursion  boats  that  will  take  one  for  a 
small  consideration  to  Rothesay,  a  watering  place  on  the  Isle 
of  Bute. "  This  is  a  •  delightful  sail  down  the  Clyde,  and 
Rothesay  itself  is  a  charming  resort.  Excursion  boats  land 
there  from  all  parts  of  Scotland.  I've  been  there  and  I  know. 

In  fact,  from  the  Broomielaw  one  can  take  boat  for  any 
part  of  Scotland  that  can  be  reached  by  water,  or  for  any 
part  of  the  habitable  globe,  for  that  matter,  as  Glasgow  is 
the  greatest  port  in  Scotland. 

Along  the  wharves  and  in  the  stream  one  can  see  steamers 
that  ply  to  many  ports,  to  Dutch,  French,  Spanish,  German, 
Italian,  Mediterranean,  American,  African,  Australian  and 
others;  and  it  is  easy  to  see  the  ships,  as  the  river  is  not 
wide.  The  Clyde  in  fact  is  not  much  ,of  a  river,  for  it  is 
navigable  only  about  twenty-five  miles  or  so,  from  Greenock 


183 

to  Glasgow.  It  is  the  mainstay  of  Glasgow,  though.  Without 
it,  the  importance  of  Glasgow  would  soon  wane. 

The  river,  about  a  hundred  years  ago,  was  shallow,  but  it 
has  been  dredged  to  a  depth  sufficient  to  permit  of  ocean 
liners  docking  there.  A  little  way  above  the  Broomielaw, 
opposite  the  Glasgow  Common,  or  Green,  the  river  is  hardly 
more  than  a  brook,  and  its  waters  are  of  the  color  of  choco- 
late, which  means  mud.  At  the  Broomielaw,  its  busiest  part, 
the  river  is  hardly  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  wide.  Many 
handsome  and  substantial  bridges  span  the  river  and  the  em- 
bankments form  fine  promenades. 

The  vessels  interested  me  a  great  deal.  The  majority 
of  them  were  long,  low,  black  and  rakish,  with  slanting  fun- 
nels, and  made  me  think  of  pirate  crafts  that  I  had  read  of 
in  stories.  Maybe  some  of  them  were  smugglers  or  pirates; 
who  knows? 

Some  cattle  were  being  unloaded  from  a  black,  piratical 
looking  craft  and  I  stopped  to  watch  operations.  The  cattle 
had  just  come  down  from  the  north  country  and  were  lanky 
and  black,  and  did  not  seem  to  want  to  walk  the  plank  to  go 
ashore.  Some  Highland  bullwhackers  stook  by  and  prodded 
them  with  canes,  and  yelled  to  them  in  "heelan"  Scotch, 
which  maybe  the  cattle  could  understand,  but  I  could  not.  I 
believe  the  Heelan  men  did  some  cussing,  too,  at  some  of  the 
steers  that  bucked  and  did  not  want  to  go  ashore,  for 
probably  they  were  used  to  quieter  scenes  and  felt  queer. 
The  poor  creatures  had  to  walk  the  plank,  though.  They 
would  see  "Lochaber  no  more."  Alas! 

Along  the  Broomielaw  where  it  leads  past  the  docks, 
there  is  a  narrow  sidewalk,  a  broad  driveway  in  the  middle 
of  the  street,  and  a  sidewalk  on  the  other  side  of  the  street 
along  which  are  ranged  ship  outfitting  shops,  stores,  restau- 
rants, lodginghouses,  hotels  and  the  like.  It  is  an  animated 
thoroughfare,  this  Broomielaw,  and  it  is  usually  full  of  people, 
"cairts,"  (carts),  carriages  and  traffic. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
GETTING   A   SQUARE    MEAL. 

I  walked  along  the  Broomielaw  very^  slowly,  taking  in 
the  various  unwonted  sights  and  observing  the  people.  I  saw 
and  heard  all  kindg  of  people,  Scandinavians,  Dutch,  English, 
Scotch  and  even  an  occasional  negro,  but  a  negro  whom  I 
heard  talk,  spoke  with  an  accent  that  was  anything  birt 
American.  I  wondered  what  nationality  he  was. 

As  I  walked  along  I  kept  an  eye  peeled  for  a  restaurant. 
I  went  by  several  of  them  and  looked  in.  They  were  all 
pretty  well  crowded  just  then  for  it  was  about  the  time  for 
the  evening  meal  and  I  hesitated  about  going  in,  as  I  did  not 
know  what  to  order,  how  to  order  or  how  to  comport  myself. 
I  would  make  myself  conspicuous,  I  feared.  I  continued  to 
walk  on,  therefore  and  after  walking  a  great  many  blocks, 
came  upon  a  tall  building  which  stood  on  the  corner  of  a 
street  opposite  a  land-locked  basin.  On  the  ground  floor  of 
this  building  was  a  large  restaurant  that  had  double  windows 
and  a  vast  interior.  On  the  sidewalk  of  the  restaurant,  in 
very  large  letters,  was  painted  the  following  bill  of  fare: 

Workingman's   Restaurant. 

Tea    2  cents 

Coffee    2  cents 

Porridge  and  Milk   2  cents 

Sandwiches   .  . 2  and  4  cents 

Eggs    2  cents 

Ham  and  Eggs   16  cents 

Broth    2  cents 

Pea  Soup   2  cents 

Potato  Soup   2  cents 

Beefsteak  Pudding   4  cents 

Sausage    2  cents 


185 

Collops   4  and  6  cents 

Dessert  Pudding  . . 2  cents 

Fish  Supper  8  and  12  cents 

Tripe  Supper  8  and  12  cents 

The  bill  of  fare  looked  good  to  me,  as  far  is  1  could 
understand  it,  and  the  prices  seemed  cheap,  too  cheap  to  be 
good. 

What  kind  of  a  pudding  is  a  beefsteak  pudding?  And 
for  the  land's  sake  what  are  collops?  I  thought  the  painter 
must  have  made  a  mistake  and  forgotten  to  put  the  letter 
"S"  before  the  word  collops.  I  knew  what  scallops  were  but 
not  collops.  And,  then,  what  kind  of  a  supper  is  a  Fish  Sup- 
per or  a  Tripe  Supper?" 

I  walked  up  to  the  show  windows  and  looked  into  them. 
In  the  right  hand  window — the  entrance  door  was .  between 
the  two  windows — I  no.ticed  platters  on  which  were  disposed 
huge  joints  of  well  cooked  mutton,  a  big  round  of  beef,  hog 
meat  done  up  in  various  shapes,  pigs'  feet,  meat  pies,  and 
divers  other  dainties,  all  of  which  looked  mighty  good  to  me. 
My  teeth  began  to  water  and  a  drop  trickled  down  my  chin. 
In  the  other  window  were  bakery  goods  of  all  kinds,  con- 
spicuous among  which  were  scones,  and  one  of  which  was 
enough  for  a  square  meal.  They  were  round,  large  and  high. 
Let  me  say  right  here  that  I  ate  a  whole  scone  several  days 
afterward,  and  that  it  went  through  me  like  a  dose  of  salts, 
for  there  was  too  much  soda  in  it. 

As  I  stood  there  absorbed  in  the  window  displays  and 
sort  of  cogitating  what  to  go  in  and  order,  a  young  girl  of 
about  eighteen  came  up  to  me,  looked  into  my  face  and  said: 
"Who  air  ye?"  I  was  flabbergasted  for  a  moment,  and  asked 
her  if  she  wasn't  mistaken  in  the  person,  but  when  she  heard 
me  speak  she  only  chuckled  softly.  Evidently  my  accent  to 
her  was  funny.  The  girl  was  quite  pretty,  and  had  Scottish 
features  and  a  slight  form;  around  the  upper  part  other  body 
there  lay  a  Paisley  shawl  which  she  kept  opening  and  shut- 
ting in  front  of  her  bosom  as  she  spoke  to  me. 


186 

I  assured  her  that  I  was  in  good  health,  but  asked  her 
again  if  she  were  not  mistaken  in  the  person  she  was  address- 
ing. 

To  this  she  vouchsafed  no  reply,  but  asked:  "Where  do 
you  come  from  the  noo?" 

"The  "noo?"  What  does  she  mean  by  that.  Like  a  flash 
the  inspiration  came  to  me  that  the  "noo"  meant  "new," 
so  I  answered  her  that  I  had  just  landed  from  New  York. 

"Och  eye,"  sort  of  sighed  she;   "ye're  a  Yankee  then?" 

Oh,  no,  miss;  I'm  a  Westerner.  I  come  from  the  western 
part  of  the  United  States.' 

Evidently  she  did  not  understand  what  I  was  driving  at, 
for  in  a  sort  of  absent-minded  way  she  murmured  twice,  "ooh 
eye!  ooh  eye!  Hoo  lang  will  ye  be  for  stayin'  in  Glesgie?" 

"I  don't  know,  miss;  if  I  find  a  good  job  here  I'll  remain 
some  time." 

"Och,  yer  a  braw  laddie,"  volunteered  she.  "I  hope  we'll 
become  well  acquaint." 

Now  this  made  me  feel  pretty  good.  The  1-issie  was 
evidentaly  kind  of  stuck  on  me  and  I  sort  of  fancied  her,  too. 
She  was  just  my  style,  sweet  and  sonsie!  (I  hope  Scotch 
readers  will  please  excuse  my  bad  Scotch).  I  informed  the 
lassie — that  is  what  they  call  girls  in  Scotland — that  I  was 
just  about  to  go  in  to  get  something  to  eat  and  asked  her  if 
she  would  join  me. 

She  thanked  me  and  said  "no,  not  the  noo,  just,"  but  she 
assured  me  that  she  would  see  me  again.  I  bade  her  an 
revoir  and  entered  the  restaurant. 

The  main  dining  room  was  a  large  apartment  containing 
tables  that  were  pretty  well  occupied  by  people  just  then, 
who  were  at  supper,  but  there  were  some  private  cabinets 
in  the  place,  in  which  one  could  be  served  if  one  chose.  I 
preferred  to  go  into  one  of  the  cabinets.  The  cabinet  1  went 
into  had  a  sliding  wooden  door  to  it,  which  could  be  closed; 
and  it  was  a  small  compartment,  just  about  large  enough  to 
contain  a  bare,  wooden  table  and  a  bench  at  either  side  of 
the  table.  There  was  hardly  room  enough  to  turn  around  in. 


187 

After  sitting  in  this  cabinet  a  few  moments  a  waitress  came 
in  and  asked  me  what  I  would  have.  I  informed  her  that  a 
plate  of  pea  soup,  some  mutton,  some  potatoes  and  bread  and 
butter  would  about  hit  me  right.  When  the  girl  heard  my 
accent  she  burst  out  laughing,  but  her  accent  got  me  a  grin- 
ning, as  well.  We  both  were  having  lots  of  fun. 

While  discussing  the  pea  soup,  which  'was  first  class,  a 
young  lady  entered  whom  I  had  seen  before.  It  was  the 
lassie  who  had  braced  me  outside  the  restaurant  and  who 
had  declined  to  sup  with  me.  Well,  if  I  wasn't  astonished! 
I  greeted  her  courteously,  and  she  came  right  in  and  seated 
herself  opposite  me  at  the  table.  When  the  waitress  came 
in  to  serve  me  with  the  meat  she  saw  the  lassie  there  and 
sniffed  in  a  scornful  sort  of  way.  She  evidently  didn't  think 
much  of  me;  I  could  plainly  see. 

The  lassie  and  I  had  quite  a  chat  and  I  requested  her  to 
shut  the  door  but  she  would  not  do  so.  I  asked  her  to  order 
something  to  eat  for  herself,  but  she  declined,  spying  that 
she  was  not  hungry.  After  I  had  dined,  or  supped— call  it 
what  you  will — we  left  the  restaurant,  the  lassie  and  1,  and 
I  had  a  further  chat  with  her  on  the  sidewalk. 

She  told  me  that  she  was  not  averse  to  taking  "a  wee 
drappie"  with  me,  and  that  she  knew  of  a  nice,  snug  place 
where  we  could  be  accommodated. 

I  begged  her  to  excuse  me,  telling  her  that  I  was  not  a 
drinking  man.  The  fact  is,  I  was  leery  of  her.  I  was  a 
stranger  in  a  strange  land,  unaccustomed  to  its  ways,  law 
or  habits,  and  proposed  to  go  slow.  The  lassie  looked  good 
enough  to  me,  but  I  did  not  know  who  she  was  or  anything 
about  her.  Under  these  circumstances  I  concluded  to  shake 
her. 

I  informed  the  lassie  that  I  wished  to  look  for  a  furnished 
room  before  it  got  too  dark,  and  begged  her  to  excuse  me. 
With  that  I  left  her,  tipping  my  hat  and  saying  "an  revoir." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 
LOOKING    FOR  A   FURNISHED    ROOM. 

The  summer  nights  are  pretty  long  in  Scotland,  for 
Scotland  is  quite  far  north,  not  so  very  far  from  the  land  of 
the  midnight  sunf  and  night  does  not  descend  until  about 
nine  or  ten  o'clock.  It  was  now  only  about  seven  o'clock,  so 
that  I  would  still  have  a  few  hours  of  daylight  in  which  to 
look  around  for  a  furnished  room.  It  was  my  intention  to 
remain  in  Glasgow  one  week  only,  and  to  see  as  much  of  the 
city  as  I  could  during  that  period;  afterward  I  would  hie  to 
other  scenes,  for  I  wished  to  see  all  of  Scotland,  if  I  could, 
and  of  Ireland  as  well. 

While  wandering  along  the  Broomielaw  I  noticed  plenty 
of  hotels  and  several  lodging  houses  along  that  thoroughfare, 
but  they  did  not  appeal  to  me,  for  I  thought  they  would  be 
too  noisy.  I  preferred  to  room  in  a  private  house  where 
everything  is  peaceful,  quiet  and  orderly.  A  long  experience 
in  such  matters  has  taught  me  that  a  private  house  for  sleep- 
ing purposes  is  the  best.  The  money  you  pay  for  a  room 
helps  out  the  family,  too,  for  it  helps  to  pay  the  rent. 

Accordingly,  I  sauntered  through  Buchanan,  Argyle, 
Jamaica  and  other  streets  once  more,  but  I  saw  no  "room 
to  let"  signs  on  the  houses  there.  I  asked  a  passerby  if  there 
were  furnished  rooms  to  let  in  that  locality.  He  told  me 
there  were  plenty  of  them,  but  that  they  were  rather  high 
priced,  for  the  reason  that  this  was  the  business  section  of 
the  city,  but. that  I  would  find  more  desirable  quarters  in  the 
residence  sections.  He  informed  me  that  if  I  wished  to  rent 
a  fairly  good  room  at  a  reasonable  price,  he  would  suggest 
that  I  try  the  Gorbals'  district,  across  the  river.  People 
having  rooms  to  let,  he  said,  usually  live  in  the  upper  stories 


189 

of  the  buildings,  in  flats,  and  hang  their  room-to-let  signs  in 
or  outside  of  their  windows.  I  thanked  him  heartily,  for  all 
this  was  useful  information  and  continued  in  my  quest  for  a 
room. 

I  saw  a  room-to-let  sign  in  a  third  story  window  on 
Jamaica  street,  and  concluded  to  take  a  chance  there  to  see 
what  would  come  of  it.  The  building  was  of  stone  and  a 
doorless  hallway  that  led  to  the  upper  apartments  had  stone 
walls,  a  stone  ceiling  and  was  paved  with  stone.  It  was 
called  a  close.  It  led  to  the  rear  of  the  building  and  was  quite 
gloomy.  I  hesitated  whether  or  not  to  traverse  it;  but  what 
was  the  use  of  being  afraid  of  bugaboos? 

I  mustered  up  courage  and  slowly  walked  through  the 
hallway,  at  the  rear  of  which  I  discovered  a  corkscrew-like 
iron  railed  stairway  that  wound  its  way  upward.  The  stair- 
way was  of  stone,  too.  Everything  is  built  to  last  in  Scot- 
land, apparently,  thinks -I. 

When  I  came  to  the  third  story — it  was  no  easy  climb  I 
assure  you — I  saw  a  heavy  wooden  door  upon  which  there 
was  a  brass  knocker  set  against  a  brass  plate.  I  knocked 
at  the  door,  whereupon  an  elderly  lady  opened  it  a  few  inches 
and  asked  me  what  my  business  might  be. 

I  informed  her  that  I  was  looking  for  a  furnished  room. 

As  soon  as  she  heard  me  speak,  she  asked:  "Ye're  a 
Yankee,  ain't  ye?" 

I  assured  her  that  I  was  a  westerner,  which  she  did  not 
seem  to  understand,  for  she  exclaimed  in  an  aimless  sort  of 
way,  "ooh-eye!  ooh-eye!" 

"What  will  ye  be  doin'  in  Glesgie?"  enquired  the  lady. 

''Going  to  find  a  job  of  some  kind,"  I  answered. 

"What's  yer  occupation?"  asked  the  lady. 

"Oh,  I  work  at  anything." 

"Ach,  then,  yer  a  jock  of  all  trades  and  maister  o'  none," 
declared  the  lady. 

"That's  about  the  size  of  it,"  answered  I. 

"Hoo  mich  will  ye  be  wantin'  to  pay  for  thae  room?" 


190 

Now,  that  was  a  poser!  I  supposed  that  things  in  Scot- 
land would  be  about  half  as  dear  as  in  the  United  States,  so 
that  a  room  that  cost  me  about  two  dollars  per  week  at  home 
ought  to  cost  me  about  one  dollar  per  week  here.  I  said  to 
the  old  lady  that  I  thought  a  dollar  a  week  would  be  a  fair 
price  for  a  room.  The  old  lady  did  not  know  how  much  a 
dollar  was  so  I  told  her,  four  shillings. 

"Awa  wi  ye!"  exclaimed  the  dame,  mad  as  blazes;  "what 
de  ye  tak'  this  hoos  for;  a  tramp's  lodgin'  place?  Awa  wi 
ye!"  And  with  this  she  slammed  the  door  in  my  face. 

Now,  what  do  you  think  of  that?  I  didn't  know  what  to 
think  of  it.  I  was  so  flabbergasted  for  a  while  that  you 
could  have  knocked  me  down  with  a  feather.  I  picked  my 
way  carefully  down  the  spiral  stairway  cussing  the  old 
woman  to  beat  the  band.  She  did  not  have  much  manners, 
I  thought. 

I  concluded  to  take  in  the  Gorbals  district  across  the 
Clyde,  to-  see  what  luck  I  would  have  over  there  in  renting  a 
room.  I  crossed  the  Jamaica  street  bridge  and  felt  my  heart 
glow  with  pleasure  as  I  looked  at  the  strange  and  unfamiliar, 
yet  pleasing  scenery.  The  water,  ships  and  boats  of  many 
varieties  interested  me  considerably  as  did  the  people  and 
vehicles  on  the  bridge.  To  me  Scotland  seemed  a  "bonnie" 
country  and  I  liked  it  well.  I  fancied  its  people,  too,  for  they 
seemed  agreeable  and  sociable,  and  not  at  all  cold  or  distant. 
They  would  speak  to  you  and  treat  you  civilly. 

There  were  gulls  and  other  birds  flying  about  over  and 
near  the  Clyde  which  were  as  strange  to  me  as  the  people, 
for  they  were  of  a  species  wholly  different  from  what  I  had 
been  used  to  seeing.  In  a  foreign  country  nothing  is  like 
what  it  is  at  home. 

After  crossing  the  bridge  I  gained  the  Gorbals'  district 
which  is  well  built  up  and  full  of  people.  At  one  time  Gor- 
bals was  a  mere  village,  lying  opposite  Glasgow  on  the  Clyde, 
but  as  the  city  expanded  and  increased  in  population,  it 
absorbed  many  an  outlying  village  so  that  today  Glasgow 
contains  between  900,000  and  a  million  of  people,  and  is  one 


191 

of  the  few  Scottish  cities  that  is  going  forward  rather  than 
backward  in  population.  Emigration  is  depopulating  many 
a  town,  country  district,  city  and  village  in  Scotland  today. 

The  Gorbals'  district  is  full  of  densely  populated  streets 
and  not  a  few  of  them  are  inhabited  by  Hebrews,  who  con- 
duct stores  and  live  there.  There  are  several  theatres  in  the 
district,  a  branch  of  the  public  library,  etc. 

I  entered  a  stone  hallway  in  this  district,  which  led  up  to 
a  second  story  flat  where  there  was  a  room  to  let.  This 
building,  too,  had  a  spiral  stairway  at  the  rear  of  the  close, 
built  solidly  of  stone. 

When  I  rapped  at  the  door,  an  engaging  young  lady  an- 
swered the  summons  and  courteously  invited  me  to  step  in- 
side. I  did  so  and  we  had  a  chat. 

She  informed  me  that  her  flat  was  occupied  by  herself 
and  sister,  but  that  they  had  a  spare  room  which  was  rented 
permanently  to  an  actor  .who  was  absent  at  the  present  time, 
making  a  tour  of  the  provinces;  she  could  not  tell  just  when 
he  would  be  back,  but  I  could  have  the  room,  if  I  wished,  with 
the  understanding  that  when  the  actor  returned  I  would  share 
the  room  with  him  and  sleep  with  him.  As  it  was  not  a 
female  actor,  I  said  to  myself,  nay. 

For  various  reasons  I  did  not  think  well  of  this  proposi- 
tion, and  thanking  the  lady  warmly  for  her  courtesy  I  with- 
drew. The  next  place  I  came  to  was  on  the  top  story  of  a 
house,  the  flat  of  which  was  occupied  by  a  middle-aged  lady. 
She  showed  me  the  furnished  room  she  wished  to  rent,  in 
which  there  was  a  table  and  a  few  chairs,  but  nothing  else. 
I  informed  the  lady  that  I  was  looking  for  a  bedroom,  and 
not  a  diningroom.  Thereupon  she  opened  a  closet  in  the  rear 
of  the  room  in  which  there  was  a  bunk,  Chinaman  style. 

Holy  mackerel!  What  did  the  lady  take  me  for;  a  China- 
man? Well,  I'm  no  Chinaman  and  I  want  a  good,  big,  wide 
bed  to  sleep  in,  in  which  there  is  plenty  of  room  to  kick.  I 
did  not  engage  the  Chinaman  bunk,  needless  to  say. 

I  called  at  several  other  places  without  any  result,  until 
finally  I  came  to  a  three  story  building  where  there  was  a 


192 

room  that  suited  my  taste  and  purse  exactly.  This  flat  was 
occupied  by  an  aged  man  and  his  daughter,  who  had  a  nice 
large  room  which  contained  a  quaint  and  old-fashioned  mantel 
piece,  a  roomy  bed,  a  large  table,  two  chairs,  a  washstand, 
dresser,  and  two  windows  that  afforded  plenty  of  light,  which 
were  draped  with  curtains.  Everything  in  the  room  was  neat 
and  clean,  and  the  window  afforded  a  romantic  view  of  back 
yards,  and  the  backs  of  houses  which  fronted  on  another 
street. 

The  daughter  of  the  house  was  about  thirty  years  of  age 
and  was  very  kind  and  amiable,  but  not  pretty.  The  father, 
who  was  nearly  eighty  years  of  age,  was  not  in  the  best  of 
health,  and  was  crusty.  Although  his  daughter  tended  and 
cared  for  him  as  a  mother  would  her  babe,  she  received  no 
thanks  from  him  and  he  gave  her  not  even  a  kind  word  in 
return,  but  accepted  all  her  attentions  as  a  matter  of  course. 
He  was  Irish,  and  his  wife,  who  had  died,  was  Scotch;  thus, 
the  daughter  was  Irish-Scotch. 

Because  the  young  lady  was  courteous  to  me,  her  father 
began  to  suspect  that  there  was  an  intrigue  between  us  and 
one  morning  when  the  young  lady  had  gone  forth  on  an 
errand  he  rushed  into  my  room,  looked  into  the  closet,  under 
the  bed,  and  everywhere  else  to  see  if  his  daughter  were 
hidden  there.  I  said  not  a  word,  but  I  was  indignant.  Had 
he  not  been  so  old  I  would  have  given  him  a  piece  of  my 
mind.  I  guess  he  was  childish. 

I  paid  a  dollar  a  week  for  this  cosy  room  and  liked  it 
well.  After  I  had  rented  it,  paid  in  advance  for  it  and  been 
left  alone  by  my  landlady,  I  disrobed  and  took  a  wash  from 
head  to  foot,  to  get  ten  day's  ship-grime  off  from  me.  Oh, 
how  delicious  it  felt  to  get  my  clothes  off  once  more  and  to 
be  clean  and  glowing  from  head  to  foot.  Afterward  I  went 
to  bed.  I  woke  the  next  morning  feeling  bright  and  gay  as 
a  lark. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 
DOING  GLASGOW. 

At  about  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  I  left  the  house  with 
the  intention  of  putting  in  a  big  day  of  sightseeing.  1  crossed 
over  to  the  Broomielaw,  where  I  went  into  a  Municipal 
restaurant  and  had  a  large  cup  of  excellent  coffee  for  two 
cents  (a  British  penny)  and  a  couple  of  large  slices  of  close- 
grained  homemade  bread  with  butter  for  two  cents  more. 
Everything  that  was  served  was  first  class  and  could  not  have 
been  better.  Thus,  for  four  cents  I  had  had  a  very  satis- 
factory meal.  The  Municipal  restaurants  in  Glasgow  are 
maintained  by  the  Municipality  of  that  city,  as  are  nearly  all 
of  the  public  utilities,  and  they  are  well  maintained,  too. 

All  the  Glasgow  Municipal  restaurants  are  fitted  up  neatly 
and  handsomely  with  marble  floors,  marble  counters,  shiny 
metal  work,  etc.  The  food  served  is  excellent  and  cheap. 
Porridge,  eggs,  and  many  other  things  are  on  the  bill  of  fare, 
and  if  I  were  a  millionaire  I  would  not  hesitate  to  patronize 
these  restaurants.  There  is  no  style  about  them,  yet  every- 
thing is  neat,  clean  and  orderly. 

After  emerging  from  the  restaurant  I  bought  a  Glasgow 
morning  paper  and  looked  it  over.  It  was  a  large  sheet  con- 
taining a  dozen  or  more  long,  wide  pages,  some  of  which  were 
full  of  news  articles  and  some  of  advertisements.  I  noticed 
that  the  news  articles  were  written  in  an  able,  scholarly  way 
and  were  devoid  of  sensationalism.  There  were  no  scare 
heads  to  startle  or  affright  one;  no  long  and  salacious  ac- 
counts of  murders  or  scandals — nothing  in  fact  to  shock  the 
sensitive  mind.  It  contained,  however,  a  page  composed  of 
"Answers  and  Queries;"  "Master  and  Man;"  "Guardian  and 
Ward;"  "Husband  and  Wife,"  and  other  things  that  were 


194 

worth  knowing; — useful  hints,  in  fact.  There  were  also  many 
advertisements  and  display  and  want  ads,  pertaining  to  all 
kinds  of  matters.  One  advertisement  especially  rivited  my 
attention.  It  was  an  announcement  that  there  was  to  be  a 
public  dance  in  the  Green  (or  Common)  that  afternoon,  given 
by  the  Govan  Pipers.  As  it  was  to  be  a  free  show  I  concluded 
to  take  it  in.  It  was  now  early  morning  however,  so  I  would 
have  lots  of  time  to  see  the  city  before  attending  the  show. 

I  wandered  along  the  Broomielaw,  up  past  where  Paddy's 
Market  is  held  on  Saturday  afternoons,  along  the  Clyde  Em- 
bankment, and  then '  I  went  into  the  fish  market  which  I  in- 
spected. Afterward,  I  walked  toward  the  Green.  I  did  not  go 
into  the  Green  just  then,  but  turned  off  toward  a  maze  of  old- 
fashioned  streets  that  led  toward  the  Cathedral,  which,  1  had 
been  informed,  is  the  most  ancient  structure  in  Glasgow. 

Glasgow  is  a  modern  city  in  all  respects  and  is  up-to-date. 
Although  it  was  settled  more  than  a  thousand  years  ago,  it 
has  kept  up  with  the  march  of  improvements,  and  is  neither 
more  nor  less  than  a  business  city,  given  up  wholly  to  trade 
and  commerce.  Soon  as  a  building  becomes  too  old  and  di- 
lapidated, it  is  torn  down  to  be  replaced  by  a  substantial  up- 
to-date  structure.  Thus,  one  will  not  find  an  ancient,  historic 
or  romantic  building  in  Glasgow,  for  trade  and  not  sentiment 
rules  there. 

I  came  upon  the  old  cathedral  which  has  a  long  history 
of  its  own  that  lives  in  song  and  story.  I  observed  that  it 
was  a  vast  structure,  enclosed  in  spacious  grounds,  and  is 
built  of  stone.  It  is  almost  black  from  age  and  weather.  The 
structure  is  as  plain  as  a  barn,  is  devoid  of  ornamentation,  and 
is  "just"  substantial.  The  only  ornamentations  I  noticed 
about  it  were  flying  buttresses  which  are  more  useful  than 
ornamental.  Andrew  Fairservice  in  one  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's 
novels,  when  speaking  of  this  cathedral,  said  that  there  are 
"no  whim-whams  or  whigmaleeries  about  it,"  which  trans- 
lated into  pure  United  States,  means  that  there  is  no  gim- 
crackery  about  it. 


195 

Near  the  cathedral  is  situated  the  Necropolis,  an  ancient 
burial  ground,  which  is  a  very  pretty  spot.  It  is  a  park-like 
domain  situated  right  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  enclosing  hill 
and  valley.  Along  its  winding  walks  in  the  valleys  are  ser- 
pentine paths  bordered  by  trees,  bushes  and  flowers.  Winding 
its  way  upward  to  the  summit  of  a  lofty  hill  is  a  pathway 
along  which  are  grave-plots,  monuments,  trees,  plants  and 
flowers.  At  the  very  summit  of  the  lofty  hill,  which  com- 
mands a  fine  view  of  the  city,  stands  an  elaborate  monument 
erected  to  the  memory  of  John  Knox,  the  Reformer.  But  the 
Reformer  is  not  buried  there.  He  is  buried,  I  believe,  in  Ed- 
inburgh. 

These  two  are  about  the  only  show-places  in  Glasgow  of 
any  antiquity,  and  after  I  had  seen  them  I  retraced  my  foot- 
steps toward  home,  for  as  my  room  was  several  miles  distant 
from  where  I  now  was,  it  would  be  pretty  near  noon  before  I 
reached  it. 

There  was  much  to  see  in  the  strange  and  unfamiliar 
streets  that  I  traversed,  and  to  me  the  whole  city  beemed  an 
oddity  and  a  curiosity. 


CHAPTER  XX. 
DANCING   IN   THE  GREEN. 

After  a  good  and  substantial  dinner  I  sallied  forth  that 
afternoon  to  witness  the  dancing  in  the  Green. 

The  Glasgow  Common,  or  Green,  lies  along  the  Clyde  at 
its  upper  part,  and  is  a  public  park  and  playground.  It  is  two 
or  three  miles  long,  I  should  judge,  and  about  a  mile  wide, 
and  contains  but  few  trees,  bushes  or  flowers.  There  are  no 
drives,  but  walks  only.  In  the  Green  are  swings  and  gymnas- 
tic apparatus  for  children,  tennis  grounds,  a  horticultural 
pavilion,  a  humane  society  building  (hospital)  near  the  river, 
rowboats,  a  music  stand,  and  other  things  for  public  amuse- 
ment or  use.  There  are  plenty  of  benches  placed  here  and 
there,  where  the  weary  may  sit  down  to  rest,  and  away  be- 
yond the  confines  of  the  park  looking  toward  the  right  hand 
as  one  enters,  extend  the  streets  and  houses  of  the  city.  On 
the  other  side  is  the  Clyde. 

It  was  about  two  o'clock  when  I  entered  the  Green,  and 
as  the  dancing  would  not  begin  until  an  hour  or  so  later,  I  had 
plenty  of  time  on  my  hands.  I  sat  down  on  a  bench  a.  little 
way  in  from  the  entrance  of  the  park  and  looked  about  me. 

Some  distance  away  on  another  bench  sat  a  lad  and  a 
lassie  who  were  making  love  in  the  Scottish  fashion.  Thejr 
sat  on  the  bench  close  together  gazing  at  vacancy  and  saying 
not  a  word,  but  evidently  they  were  doing  a  powerful  lot  of 
thinking.  Suddenly  and  without  the  least  warning  the  lad 
would  throw  his  arm  around  the  lassie's  waist,  hug  her  to  him 
tightly  for  a  moment  or  so,  and  then  let  go. 

Did  you  ever  observe  a  calf  suckle  its  mother?  It  makes 
a  grab  for  the  teat,  jerks  a  few  mouthfuls,  then  suddenly  lets 
go  and  repeats  the  performance  every  few  moments.  Well, 


197 

that  was  about  the  way  this  couple  made  love.  I  was  wishing 
as  I  watched  their  performance  that  my  New  York  girl,  Hen- 
rietta, had  been  there  to  give  this  lad  and  lassie  a  few  lessons 
in  the  art  of  love-making.  Henrietta  could  have  done  it,  all 
right. 

This  calf  fashion  seemed  to  me  to  be  a  queer  way.  I  in- 
finitely preferred  the  New  York  style,  of  kissing  and  clinging. 
It  seemed  to  me,  though,  that  this  young  couple  had  lots  of 
nerve,  making  love  in  public  as  they  did.  But,  then,  some 
people  are  not  particular  in  such  matters;,  they  act  according 
to  their  feelings  and  don't  give  a  cuss  who  sees  them  or  what 
people  think. 

In  due  time  the  people  began  to  enter  the  park  in  crowds. 
Nearly  all  of  them  were  of  the  working  class,  and  were  male 
and  female,  shop  girls,  working  girls,  clerks,  mechanics,  etc., 
with  not  a  few  middle  aged  and  elderly  people  sandwiched  in 
between.  All  wore  their  holiday  togs  and  were  out  for  a  good 
time.  I  walked  with  the  crowd  to  the  musicstand  which  is 
situated  quite  a  way  from  the  entrance  of  the  park.  There 
were  few  benches  around  the  musicstand  so  the  vast  majority 
of  the  people  had  to  stand. 

This  was  the  first  big  assemblage  of  Scotch  people  I  had 
ever  seen,  and  the  types  interested  me,  for  they  were  so  vari- 
ous and  strange.  I  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  them.  Their 
conversation,  to  me,  was  fascinating,  for  it  seemed  odd  and 
quaint. 

Bye  and  bye  some  little  boys  in  uniform  moved  about  in 
the  throng  handing  out  programs  and  I  secured  one.  This  is 
what  I  found  printed  on  it: 

No.  1 — March;  Glendaruel  Highlanders. 

No.  2 — Strathspey;   Marquis  of  Huntley. 

No.  3— Reel;  The  Auld  Wife  Ayont  the  Fire. 

No.  4 — March;   Brian  Boru. 

No.  5 — Strathspey;   Sandy  King. 

No.  G — Reel;   Abercairney  Highlanders. 


198 

No.     7 — Dance;  Reel  o'  Tulloch. 

No.     8 — Waltz;   The  Pride  of  Scotland. 

No.     9— Highland  Fling. 

No.  10 — March;   Loch  Katrine  Highlanders. 

No.  11— Strathspey;  When  You  Go  to  the  Hill. 

No.  12 — Reel;  Over  the  Isles  to  America. 

No.  13 — Sword  Dance. 

No.  14 — March;  93'ds  Farewell  to  Edinburgh. 

No.  15 — Strathspey;   Kessock  Ferry. 

No.  1G — Reel;   Mrs.  McLeod's. 

No.  17 — Slow' March;   Lord  Leven. 

Choir. 

No.     1 — Glee;   Hail,  Smiling  Morn. 

No.     2 — Part  Song;   Rhine  Raft  Song. 

No.     3 — Part  Song;   Maggie  Lauder. 

No.     4 — Part  Song;   Let  the  Hills  Resound. 

No.     5 — Scottish  Medley,  introducing  favorite  Airs. 

No.     6 — We'll  Hae  Nane  but  Hielan  Bonnets  Here. 

No.     7— Part  Song;  Hail  to  the  Chief. 

No.     8 — Part  Song;   The  Auld  Man. 

No.     9 — Part  Song;  Awake,  Aeolian  Lyre. 

No.  10 — Part  Song;  Night;  Lovely  Night! 

No.  11 — God  Save  the  King. 

A  good  long  program  this,  and  it  looked  good  to  me.  1 
was  on  the  tiptoe  of  expectation. 

The  musicstand  was  a  large  one  and  had  a  good  sized 
dancing  platform  attached  to  it,  but  there  were  no  musicians 
on  the  stand  as  yet,  nor  anyone  else. 

The  crowd  stood  around  the  platform  in  a  dense  mass,  of 
which  I  formed  a  unit,  waiting  patiently  for  the  trouble  to 
begin.  Some  of  the  lads  were  chaffing  the  lasses  in  a  flirty 
way  and  if  I  were  able  to  reproduce  some  of  their  Scottish 
badinage  and  alleged  witticisms  accurately  I  would  do  so,  but 
as  I  did  not  take  notes  of  them  I  will  refrain  from  doing  so. 


199 

After  a  long  time  had  elapsed  I  heard  some  yelling  and 
shrieking  near  the  park  entrance  and  wondered  what  the 
trouble  was.  Everyone  craned  their  necks  or  stood  on  tiptoes 
looking  in  that  direction.  Directly  I  saw  the  people  along  the 
pathway,  where  the  yelling  and  shrieking  was  going  on,  rush 
to  either  side  of  the  walk  hurriedly,  and  then  I  knew  that  it 
was  what  I  had  suspected,  a  dog  fight. 

Anything  to  vary  the  monotony,  thinks  I.  It  must  have 
been  a  rattling  good  fight  the  dogs  were  having,  for  they  were 
keeping  up  their  noise  without  cessation,  and  were  coming  up 
this  way,  too,  rapidly. 

A  lane  had  been  formed  by  the  crowd  where  the  fighting 
was  going  on,  but  suddenly  I  noticed  that  a  band  of  musicians 
was  moving  rapidly  along  the  lane  toward  us,  playing  the  bag- 
pipes. 

Oh  ho!  it  isn't  a  dog  fight  after  all,  then?  The  shrieking 
and  yelling  came  from  the  pipes.  Well,  I'll  be  blowed,  thinks 
I. 

As  the  musicians  came  nearer  I  could  see  that  they  were 
dressed  in  Highland  costume.  The  men  wore  no  trousers,  but 
stockings  came  up  to  the  knee  and  from  the  knee  quite  a  way 
up,  their  limbs  were  bare.  From  the  waist  hung  the  kilts 
with  a  sporran  in  front  of  it,  and  around  the  shoulder  was 
worn  a  plaid.  On  the  side  of  the  head  of  each  man  was 
perched  a  cap  with  a  feather  in  it.  Every  man  was  playing 
the  pipes  and  playing  away  as  if  his  life  depended  on  it.  The 
musicians  strode  along  swiftly  as  they  played,  their  skirts 
swinging  from  side  to  side  rapidly,  reminding  me  of  the  can- 
teen girl  at  home  as  she  marches  with  her  regiment. 

These  chaps  were  stern,  erect  and  earnest,  and  marched 
and  played  grimly,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left 
as  they  marched,  but  wholly  intent  on  business.  The  mob 
along  the  walk  closed  in  behind  the  musicians  after  they  had 
passed  by  them,  and  seemed  delirious  with  excitement.  "This 
stirs  my  heelan  bluid,"  I  heard  a  bystander  say. 


200 

The  tune  the  bagpipes  were  playing  was, 

Where,  oh  where,  has  my  little  dog  gone, 
Where,  oh  where,  can  he  be? 
With  his  hair  cut  long  and  his  tail  cut  short, 
Where,  oh  where,  can  he  be? 

Now,  this  is  a  very  inspiring  little  tune,  a  sad  little  re- 
frain, in  fact,  but  it  was  nothing  new  to  me  for  I  had  heard 
it  before,  many  a  time.  It  was  played  as  a  march  in  quick 
time  but  I  believe^it  can  be  set  to  dance  music,  as  well.  But 
what  an  infernal  noise  those  pipes  were  making!  One  of 
these  instruments  can  make  noise  enough  to  raise  the  dead, 
but  a  band  of  them — my  goodness,  gracious!  Such  a  droning, 
a  shrieking  and  a  yelling  there  was!  Wow!  It  was  enough 
to  set  a  fellow  crazy.  But  the  louder  the  pipes  played 
the  more  enthusiastic  did  the  people  become. 

The  musicians  were  now  approaching  the  bandstand  but 
they  did  not  go  upon  it  as  yet,  but  kept  a  marching  and  a 
marching  around  it,  fiercely  playing  that  same  little  old  tune, 
continually  and  continuously.  It  got  me  awful  tired.  I  felt 
as  if  I'd  like  to  go  off  somewhere  to  lay  down  and  die.  It  got 
on  my  nerves. 

After  marching  around  the  stand  to  their  heart's  content 
the  musicians  went  upon  the  stand  and  took  seats.  They  per- 
mitted the  old  tune  to  die  out  long  enough  for  that,  anyway, 
thank  fortune.  After  a  proper  rest  the  pipes  began  to  skirl 
up  for  number  one  on  the  program,  a  march,  "The  Glendar- 
uel  Highlanders."  It  seemed  to  me  that  there  had  been 
enough  march  music  played  and  enough  marching  done,  but 
the  "push"  didn't  think  so.  They  applauded  the  music  and 
marching  frantically.  Go  it,  folks,  as  long  as  you're  happy, 
thinks  I. 

No.  2  was  a  Strathspey,  the  Marquis  of  Huntley.  There 
was  something  doing  this  time.  Several  of  the  kilt-attired 
Highlanders  came  to  the  fore  and  gave  us  a  real  old-fashioned 
dance.  Say,  it  was  great!  I  never  saw  the  like.  Those 
Highlanders  were  as  lively  and  supple  as  eels,  and  their 


201 

movements  were  so  quick  that  the  eye  could  scarcely  follow 
them.  And  how  gracefully  they  danced!  Theirs  was  the 
poetry  of  motion.  I  did  not  wonder  that  the  crowd  went  clean 
crazy  now,  for  so  did  I,  and  so  would  almost  anyone,  had  they 
seen  the  dancing.  It  was  great..  The  dancers  were  slim, 
wiry  and  tireless,  and  seemed  to  be  able  to  dance  forever. 
Their  wind  was  so  good  that  I  felt  as  if  I'd  hate  to  tackle  any 
one  of  them  in  a  scrap.  Och-Aye!  They  were  too  long- 
winded. 

No.  3  was  a  reel,  "The  Auld  Wife  ayont  the  Fire,"  and  this 
was  danced  by  the  Highlanders,  as  were  all  the  dances,  in 
fact.  Not  a  woman  participated.  This  reel  was  about  the 
wildest  thing  I  ever  saw.  The  dancers  turned  themselves 
loose  and  let  themselves  run  wild.  It  seemed  as  if  they  had 
suddenly  gone  crazy.  They  hopped,  skipped  and  jumped,  they 
leaped  in  the  air,  whirled,  whooped,  yelled  and  shrieked.  You 
would  have  thought  that  a  band  of  Sioux  Indians  were  on  the 
warpath  and  had  sighted  the  enemy.  Such  lively  movements 
I  never  saw  before. 

The  Scotch  must  be  devils  when  they  break  loose,  thinks 
I.  There  is  no  restraining  them.  Their  dancing,  their  steps, 
their  actions  and  their  methods  were  a  revelation  to  me.  A 
performance  like  this  is  worth  crossing  the  ocean  to  see. 

No.  5,  Strathspey,  "Sandy  King,"  was  a  good  number; 
No.  6,  reel,  "Abercairney  Highlanders,"  was  a  corker  and  got 
the  crowd  utterly  crazy,  including  yours  truly;  the  reel  o' 
Tulloch  was  another  wild  Indian  dance  and  made  everyone's 
hair  stand  on  end,  including  that  of  your  humble  servant, 
who  is  not  apt  to  enthuse  without  a  good  cause. 

Number  9,  "Highland  Fling,"  came  next  and  was  a  dandy. 
It  was  more  energetic  and  lively  even  than  the  reel,  and  I  be- 
gan to  wonder  how  the  human  frame  could  endure  so  much 
exertion  without  collapsing,  but  those  fellows  never  would 
tire.  It  was  wonderful!  wonderful!!  wonderful!!!  All  the 
dancing  was  great.  I  cannot  describe  it  as  it  should  be  de- 
scribed. I  shall  say  no  more  about  it  except  to  mention  one 
more  dance,  the  Sword  Dance.  This  was  danced  by  one  man 


202 

only.  Two  naked  sword  blades  were  placed  upon  the  stage 
crosswise,  and  rather  a  thick  set  (buirdley)  Highlander 
danced  between  the  blades,  but  never  anywhere  else.  He 
danced  slowly,  then  rapidly;  he  spun,  jumped,  leaped  with  all 
kinds  of  steps  and  movements  and  never  came  any  where 
near  touching  a  sword  blade.  How  he  did  it  I  don't  know. 
That  performer  ranked  high  as  an  artist  I  learned,  and  was 
celebrated  throughout  Scotland.  He  would  draw  a  large  audi- 
ence anywhere,  the  world  over. 

When  I  returned  to  my  room  that  evening  my  landlady 
asked  me  how  I  liked  the  dancing.  I  told  her  it  was  the  most 
marvelous  exhibition  of  dancing  that  I  had  ever  seen.  And  it 
was,  by  long  odds. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 
TAKING    IN   A   SHOW. 

That  same  evening  I  took  in  a  show  at  the  Gayety 
Theatre,  one  of  the  largest  and  oldest  theatres  in  Scotland. 
The  Gayety  is  situated  across  the  Clyde  from  where  I  lived 
and  as  the  performance  was  to  begin  at  six  o'clock  in  the 
evening  I  would  have  to  start  pretty  soon  now,  for  I  intended 
to  walk  and  the  distance  was  considerable.  I  had  plenty  of 
daylight  before  me,  however,  for  it  would  not  grow  dark 
until  ten  o'clock  or  later. 

I  arrived  at  the  Gayety  in  good  season  and  noticed  that 
it  was  a  lofty  and  ancient  stone  building  with  nothing  very 
ornamental  about  it  to  show  that  it  was  a  play-house.  It  was 
my  intention  to  go  up  in  the  gallery — price  sixpence — as  it 
was  the  intention  of  a  great  many  others  to  do,  for  there 
was  a  large  crowd  present,  in  front  of  the  box  office  and 
extending  a  couple  of  hundred  feet  or  more  into  the  street 
beyond.  I  got  in  line  and  waited  for  the  doors  to  open.  By 
paying  an  extra  penny  or  so  I  could  have  got  in  what  is 


203 

called  "the  early  door,"  and  in  that  way  could  have  avoided 
the  rush  and  long  wait,  and  could  have  secured  a  good  seat 
before  the  mob  rushed  in;  but  I  concluded  to  mix  in  with  the 
"push"  and  take  my  chances. 

It  was  a  tedious  wait,  however,  in  front  of  the  doors. 
To  while  away  the  tedium  some  fellows  in  the  crowd  began 
to  play  pranks  with  each  other,  Scottish  fashion.  A  chap 
behind  me  gave  me  a  jolt  in  the  rump  with  his  knee  and 
tipped  my  hat  over  my  eyes.  I  told  him  not  to  get  too  gay, 
whereupon  he  heard  my  accent  and  knew  at  once  that  I  was 
a  foreigner.  He  informed  the  others  of  the  fact  in  a  loud 
voice,  and  they  quickly  made  it  mighty  interesting  for  me. 
They  flung  all  kinds  of  impudent  questions  at  me,  they 
cheered  me,  jeered  me,  called  me  names  and  made  life  a 
burden  to  me  for  awhile.  I  was  sorry  I  had  opened  my  mouth 
but  I  had  the  wit  to  keep  quiet,  at  such  a  time;  for  the  least 
said,  the  soonest  mended. 

I  kept  mum,  all  right,  and  let  them  enjoy  themselves. 
They  quit  when  they  got  ready  and  gave  their  attention  to 
some  one  else.  Had  I  said  anything  more  they  would  have 
had  lots  more  fun  with  me,  I  have  no  doubt. 

The  gallery  doors  were  slowly  opened  a  little  before  six 
by  an  old  man  who  was  dressed  in  theatre  livery,  and  then 
there  was  a  rush  and  a  squeeze  to  get  to  the  ticket  window. 
I  was  nearly  squeezed  as  flat  as  a  pancake  but  I  held  my 
own  in  the  jam  and  gave  way  to  nobody.  This  was  a  case 
of  each  for  himself  and  the  devil  for  us  all.  I  got  to  the 
ticket  window  all  right  in  due  season. 

After  securing  my  ticket  I  rushed  up  the  stone  stairways 
with  the  crowd.  There  were  as  many  steps  to  mount,  it 
seemed  to  me,  as  there  are  inside  of  the  Goddess  of  Liberty 
in  New  York  harbor,  and  that  is  not  a  few.  I  was  compelled 
to  stop  several  times  to  take  a  breather  but  no  one  else 
stopped,  I  noticed,  which  convinced  me  of  the  fact  that  the 
Scots  are  a  long-winded  race.  I  wouldn't  want  to  tackle  any 
of  them  in  a  scrap,  for  their  wind  is  better  than  mine  and 
I'd  come  out  at  the  little  end  of  the  horn. 


204 

I  finally  reached  the  gallery,  pretty  well  spent.  The 
gallery  was  next  to  the  roof  and  by  standing  on  a  seat  I  could 
almost  touch  the  ceiling  with  my  hand.  The  seats  were 
wooden  benches  and  the  comforts  were  not  many.  But  what 
can  you  expect  for  sixpence? 

Below  the  gallery  were  other  tiers,  nearly  all  of  which 
contained  stalls,  individual  boxes,  private  boxes,  in  fact. 
These  seemed  to  me  to  be  drygoods  boxes  boarded  up  to  the 
middle  with  the  upper  part  open,  so  as  to  afford  the  occupants 
a  view  of  things.  "  The  stalls  were  not  much  more  voluminous 
than  drygoods  boxes  but  they  afforded  a  certain  privacy  and 
seclusion.  On  the  ground  floor  was  the  pit,  what  Americans 
call  the  orchestra. 

Little  boys  in  livery  were  moving  about  on  the  various 
floors  crying  out  ' 'program,"  with  the  accent  on  the  first 
syllable,  and  as  I  wanted  a  program  I  hailed  a  boy  who 
handed  me  one,  and  wanted  a  penny  (two  cents)  for  it.  I 
thought  he  was  trying  to  work  me  but  to  save  annoyance  I 
gave  him  a  penny.  I  soon  learned  that  all  theatre  programs 
must  be  paid  for  in  Scotland,  an  old  custom  this.  This  is 
what  the  program  contained: 

No.     1 — La  Puits  d'  Amour,  Balfe;  Band. 

No.     2 — Mr.  John  Robertson,  Baritone  Vocalist. 

No.  3 — Drew  and  Richards  in  their  specialty  act,  Old 
Fashioned  Times. 

No.     4 — Mr.  Billy  Ford,  Ne>gro  Comedian. 

No.     5 — The  Alaskas,  Comic  Horizontal  Bar  Experts. 

No.     6 — Mr.  Edward  Harris,  London  Comedian. 

No.  7 — Miss  Josie  Trimmer,  Child  Actress  and  the  For- 
get-me-nots, Vocalists  and  Dancers. 

No.     8 — Selection,  Yoeman  of  the  Guard. 

No.     9 — Miss  Sarah  Adams,  American  Serpentine  Dancer. 

No.  10 — The  Gees,  in  their  musical  oddety,  "Invention." 

No.  11 — Collins  and  Knowles,  in  their  Refined  Specialty 
Act. 


205 

No.  12 — Mr.   Charles   Russell,   Comedian  and   Descriptive 

Vocalist. 
No.  13 — National  Anthem. 

Quite  a  lengthy  program  this,  and  it  looked  as  if  it  might 
be  good.  If  the  performance  were  half  as  good  as  the  one 
given  in  the  Green  that  afternoon,  I  would  have  no  kick 
coming.  We  shall  see,  said  I  to  myself,  as  I  waited  with  what 
patience  I  could  muster. 

After  a  long  and  tedious  wait  the  orchestra  away  down 
below  in  front  of  the  stage  began  to  tune  up  and  gave  us  an 
overture  called  "La  Puits  d'  Amour,"  by  Balfe.  Balfe  is  a 
good  composer  and  has  written  some  fine  pieces,  but  this  one 
seemed  dull.  Whether  the  composition  is  a  dull  one  or 
whether  the  orchestra  was  a  poor  one  I  do  not  know,  but 
the  music  was  dull,  uninteresting  and  so  long  drawn  out  that 
I  soon  found  myself  nodding,  for  somnolent  music  is  apt  to 
make  me  snooze.  - 

After  the  selection  was  ended  there  came  a  pause  of  a 
few  minutes  and  then  there  was  a  sort  of  half-hearted  fan- 
fare during  which  the  curtain  was  rung  up  and  "Mr.  John 
Robertson,  Baritone  Vocalist,"  strode  upon  the  stage  and 
graciously  bowed  to  the  audience. 

Mr.  Robertson  was  a  young  man.  He  was  attired  in 
evening  dress  and  there  was  a  heavy  gold  chain  hanging  in 
front  of  his  black  vest  which  he  kept  a  hold  of  as  he  sang. 
Whether  there  was  a  watch  attached  to  the  chain  I  don't 
know,  nor  do  I  know  whether  the  chain  was  solid  gold  or 
brass,  but  it  looked  good  from  the  distance.  Mr.  Robertson 
was  a  very  indifferent  singer  who  got  me  tired;  he  could  not 
sing  a  little  bit  and  I  felt  relieved  when  he  made  his  exit. 
When  he  finally  tore  himself  away  from  us,  which  he  seemed 
loth  to  do,  he  took  his  massive  chain  with  him.  It  must  have 
been  valuable. 

No.  3  was  Drew  and  Richards  in  their  specialty  act,  "Old 
Fashioned  Times."  A  gentleman  and  lady  came  upon  the 
stage  dressed  in  very  queer  togs  and  as  soon  as  the  lady 


206 

opened  her  mouth  to  sing  I  knew  that  she  was  a  man.  The 
chap  who  impersonated  the  lady  was  not  on  to  his  job  at  all. 
He  was  a  caricature.  The  act  was  a  poor  one  but  the  gallery 
gods  did  not  think  so  to  judge  from  the  way  they  applauded. 
They  stamped,  cheered  and  bellowed  "bee!  bee!"  through 
their  clenched  fists.  It  was  a  circus  to  me  to  observe  the 
ways  of  the  gallery  gods,  who  were  packed  together  as  close 
as  sardines  in  a  box,  including  myself. 

Mr.  Billy  Ford,  negro  comedian,  came  next.  1  was  ex- 
pecting to  see  a  colored  countryman  of  mine,  and  when  he 
came  upon  the  stage  I  thought  he  was  a  darky,  but  as  soon 
as  he  began  to  sing  the  conviction  was  forced  upon  me  that 
he  was  a  London  cockney  dressed  up  as  a  nigger.  Did  you 
ever  hear  a  colored  chap  talk  with  a  cockney  accent?  I  never 
did.  When  this  chap  endeavored  to  sing  like  a  coon  and 
to  dance  and  talk  like  one,  I  was  astonished — paralyzed 
almost.  I  felt  pained  and  had  a  feeling  that  I  wanted  to  go 
home  to  my  mother,  but  the  gallery  gods  went  into  ecstacies 
of  delight.  I  guess  they  had  not  seen  much  of  darkies  and 
were  unfamiliar  with  their  ways.  I  began  to  think  that  this 
was  a  pretty  rotten  show  and  felt  like  going  home.  The  idea; 
a  coon  with  a  cockney  accent;  the  Lord  deliver  us! 

"The  Alaskas,  Comic  Horizontal  Bar  Experts,"  came  next. 
They  might  have  been  experts  at  a  drinking  bar,  but  I  have 
seen  better  gymnasts  in  free  shows  on  the  Coney  Island 
Bowery  than  these  fellows.  They  were  tame — rotten.  Take 
'em  away. 

Mr.  Edward  Harris,  London  Comedian,  was  next.  Harris 
was  a  celebrity  from  the  London  music  halls  and  he  was 
undoubtedly  a  great  artist.  Here,  at  last,  was  an  actor  of 
talent  and  merit.  His  impersonations  of  London  characters 
were  true  to  the  life  and  there  was  a  go,  a  spirit  and  a  vim 
in  his  characterization  that  brought  down  the  house. 

I  had  been  listless  and  indifferent  until  now  but  this  real 
actor  showed  to  me  what  genius — talent  is,  and  stirred  me  up. 
Why  is  great  acting  called  talent  and  not  genius?  You  do 
not  hear  people  say  that  an  actor  is  a  genius,  but  that  he 


207 

has  talent.  At  any  rate  the  London  comedian  was  a  genius. 
He  kept  the  house  in  an  uproar,  and  the  audience  could  not 
get  enough  of  him.  He  responded  to  several  encores.  It 
was  a  study  to  watch  the  audience  encore.  Such  ways  and 
methods  of  conduct  I  had  never  seen  before.  It  pays  to  go 
abroad  to  see  things. 

Miss  Josie  Trimmer,  Child  Actress,  and  the  Forget-me- 
nots,  Vocalists  and  Dancers,  were  next  on  the  program.  Little 
Josie  was  evidently  under  the  protection  of  the  "Forget-me- 
nots";  she  was  a  cute  child  but  devoid  of  any  ability  what- 
ever. The  Forget-me-nots  were  Scotch  lassies  who  were  coon 
shouters  and  dancers,  but  tell  me,  did  you  ever  hear  a  coon 
lady  speak  with  a  Scotch  accent?  These  ladies  put  a  good 
deal  of  ginger  into  their  work  and  thought  they  were  doing 
fine,  and  so  did  the  audience,  but  they  gave  me  a  pain.  I 
looked  around  and  wanted  to  go  home,  but  I  was  so  wedged 
in  that  it  would  have. been  a  difficult  matter  to  get  out. 

The  next  event  on  the  program  was  a  selection  by  the 
orchestra,  an  overture,  "Yeoman  of  the  Guard."  This  afforded 
an  intermission  of  which  many  took  advantage  of  by  going- 
down  stairs  to  see  a  man.  I  thought  of  going  home,  but  the 
next  number  on  the  program  was  to  be  an  act  by  an  Ameri- 
can lady,  Miss  Sarah  Adams,  American  Serpentine  Dancer, 
and  I  felt  that  I  ought  to  remain  to  see  her.  It  was  a  coon's 
age,  it  seemed  to  me,  since  I  had  seen  an  American  face  and 
heard  an  American  voice.  Those  who  have  been  in  the  old 
country  can  understand  just  what  my  feelings  were.  A  sight 
of  the  American  flag  in  a  foreign  country,  will  get  an  Ameri- 
can crazy  with  joy.  God  bless  the  dear  old  Stars  and  Stripes, 
he  or  she  will  say. 

I  fortified  myself  with  patience  and  waited  for  my  coun- 
try-woman to  appear  on  the  stage.  When  her  turn  came,  all 
the  lights  in  the  theatre  were  turned  off,  including  the  foot- 
lights, and  a  strong  calcium  light  was  turned  on  the  stage. 
Colored  glasses  were  set  before  the  calcium  light  in  all  colors 
of  the  rainbow.  The  orchestra  played  low  and  thrilling  music, 
whereupon  the  danseuse  suddenly  hopped  into  view  on  the 


208 

stage  enwrapped  in  diaphonous  folds  of  cheesecloth  which 
she  threw  around  herself  in  waves,  cascades,  etc.,  and  upon 
which  the  calcium  light  played  in  many  colors.  It  was  a 
gorgeous  spectacle.  Miss  Adams  was  tall,  lean  and  bony,  a 
New  England  type,  and  she  threw  her  arm  and  limbs  about 
in  a  manner  to  mystify  the  eye.  Sallie  was  ^all  right.  She 
was  onto  her  job  in  good  shape.  She  was  spry  and  chipper 
and  evidently  did  not  give  a  rap  who  saw  her,  but  hopped 
about  unconcernedly.  I  applauded  her  wildly,  not  because 
her  acting  was  so  good,  for  I  had  seen  as  good  and  better 
at  home,  but  because'  she  was  my  country-woman.  1  stamped, 
I  whistled,  I  catcalled,  and  I'll  bet  my  neighbors  thought  that 
I  had  suddenly  gone  crazy;  but  not  a  rap  did  I  care  for  what 
they  thought.  Go  it,  Sallie,  you're  a  darling!  Go  it,  old  girl! 
Show  these  foreigners  what  you  can  do,  thought  I. 

But  those  blue,  red,  green,  yellow,  purple,  orange  and 
other  lights  made  me  think  of  the  Fourth  of  July  at  home 
and  a  wave  of  homesickness  swept  over  me.  I  rushed  out 
and  for  home.  I  had  had  enough.  That  was  the  first  show  I 
attended  in  Scotland,  but  not  the  last,  by  any  means. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
"TA-TA,    GLESGIE!" 

Well,  I  had  put  in  a  grand  day  and  night  of  sight-seeing 
and  Glasgow  suited  my  taste  well.  It  is  a  huge  city,  full  of 
manufacturing  establishments,  wholesale  business  houses  and 
an  endless  lot  of  retail  stores.  It  is  the  centre  of  trade,  ship- 
ping and  commerce  in  Scotland,  and  above  all  it  is  the  most 
famous  shipbuilding  place  in  the  world.  What  New  York  is 
to  the  United  States,  Glasgow  is  to  Scotland,  the  metropo- 
lis and  most  populous  city.  Everyone  is  chock  full  of  busi- 
ness in  Glasgow  and  making  money,  apparently.  It  is  a  vast 
commercial  city  and  interesting  enough  to  those  who  like  an 
active,  bustling,  lively  place.  But  though  the  Glasgow  folks 
are  full  of  business  they  like  pleasure  and  comfort  as  well, 
for  their  city  is  a  gay  one  in  many  respects.  It  contains  a 
great  many  theatres  and  other  amusement  places;  many  fine 
parks;  plenty  of  open  space  and  squares;  and  some  fine  monu- 
ments. It  also  contains  a  very  large,  well  equipped  and  splen- 
did public  museum  at  Kelvinside,  which  contains  voluminous 
collections  of  armor,  tapestries,  statuary,  paintings,  natural 
history  objects,  etc.  Also  many  other  things  that  are  worth 
seeing  and  studying.  I  put  in  a  week  agreeably  in  Glasgow, 
and  never  felt  time  hang  heavy  on  my  hands.  I  found  the 
people  to  be  sociable,  and  not  too  proud  or  too  stuck-up  to 
speak  to  me.  Their  ways,  speech,  dress  and  manner  were  a 
never  failing  source  of  interest  to  me  a,s  mine  were  to  them 
in  a  measure,  for  they  seemed  to  have  quite  a  liking  for 
Americans.  Many  of  them,  however,  displayed  a  woeful  ignor- 
ance of  "the  States,"  as  they  called  them.  I  gave  them  all 
the  information  I  could  and  it  pleased  me  to  spe#k  to  them 
on  such  a  subject,  for  it  was  one  dear  to  me. 


210 

One  thing  struck  me  very  forcibly  before  I  had  been  in 
Scotland  very  long,  and  that  was,  how  popular  Robert  Burns, 
the  poet,  was.  Streets  and  lanes  are  named  after  him;  monu- 
ments have  been  erected  to  him,  and  there  are  pictures  of 
him  displayed  galore;  clubs  are  named  after  him;  bum  look- 
ing cigars,  hats,  caps,  shoes,  clothing,  liquors,  and  a  multi- 
tude of  other  things,  too  numerous  to  mention,  some  as  a 
mark  of  affection  or  reverence,  and  some,  merely  as  a  trade- 
mark. The  notion  came  to  me  that  for  Burns,  Scotchmen 
will  die;  Scotch  ladies  sigh;  Scotch  babies  cry;  Scotch  dogs 
kiyi.  Everyone  seemed  to  think  well  of  him  and  yet  he  had 
been  dead  more  than  150  years.  Scotland  has  produced  other 
great  poets,  such  as  Allan  Ramsay,  Robert  Ferguson,  James 
Hogg,  the  Ettrick  Shepherd,  Motherwell  and  many  others, 
some  of  whom  were  first  class,  yet  none  of  them  were  as 
popular  as  Burns.  Was  Robert  Burns  so  immeasurably 
superior  to  all  other  poets?  Why  was  he  so  great?  What  did 
he  do  to  so  enthrall  humanity? 

He  believed  that  the  proper  study  for  mankind  is  man, 
and  he  understood  mankind  as  few  mortals  ever  did.  This 
knowledge  came  to  him  partly  by  intuition  and  partly  by 
study.  The  eye  of  his  genius  perceived  that  which  the  ordi- 
nary mortal  man  cannot  perceive  or  acquire  by  study. 

*  Cannot  the  same  be  said  of  other  men  of  genius?  It 
seems  to  me  it  can,  but  there  are  qualities,  degrees,  grades 
in  genius,  evidently.  Genius  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than 
great,  good,  common  sense;  wit,  originality,  I  take  it;  a  quality 
that  is  born  in  man  and  cannot  be  acquired,  but  strange  to 
say  every  man  of  genius  does  not  possess  the  quality  of  gen- 
ius to  an  equal  degree. 

One  poem  alone  of  Burns  which  will  always  appeal  to 
mankind  evinces  his  superiority,  although  it  is  not  the  only 
poem  that  discloses  his  great  genius.  I  refer  to,  "Honest 
Poverty,"  which  I  will  reprint  here  and  descant  upon.  Had 
Burns  written  no  other  poem  than  this  one,  it  would  have 


211 

rendered  him  immortal,  and  yet  it  is  not  clothed  in  fine, 
flowery  or  erudite  language.  It  does  contain  good  common 
sense  though.  Here  is  the  poem: 

HONEST  POVERTY. 

Is  there  for  honest  poverty, 
That  hangs  its  head  and  a'  that; 
The  coward  slave  we  pass  him  by, 
We  dare  be  poor  for  a'  that; 
For  a'  that  and  a'  that, 
The  rank  is  but  the  guinea  stamp 
The  man's  the  gowd  for  a'  that. 

What  though  on  hamely  fare  we  dine 

Wear  hodden  grey  and  a'  that; 

Give  fools  their  silks  .and  knaves  their  wine 

A  man's  a  man  for  a'  that. 

For  a'  that  and  a'  that; 

The  honest  man  though  e'er  sae  poor, 

Is  king  of  o'  men  for  a'  that. 

Ye  see  you  birkie,  ca'd  a  lord 

Wha'  struts  and  stares  and  a'  that? 

Though  hundreds  worship  at  his  word 

He's  but  a  coof  for  a'  that; 

For  a'  that  and  a'  that 

The  man  of  independent  mind 

He  looks  and  laughs  at  a'  that. 

A  prince  can  make  a.belted  knight 

A  marquis,  duke  and  a'  that; 

But  an  honest  man's  aboon  his  might — 

Guid  faith  he  maunna  fa'  that; 

For  a'  that  and  a'  that, 

Their  dignities  and  a'  that 

The  pith  o'  sense,  and  pride  o'  worth, 

Are  higher  ranks  than  a'  that. 

Then  let  us  pray  that  come  it  may, 

As  come  it  will  for  a'  that, 

That  sense  and  worth  o'er  all  the  earth 

May  bear  the  gree,  and  a'  that! 

For  a'  that  and  a'  that 

Its  coming  yet  for  a'  that 

That  man  to  man,  the  world  o'er 

Shall  brothers  be  for  a'  that. 


212 

There  are  some  Scottish  words  in  this  poem  that  I  do 
not  understand,  yet  I  can  gather  their  general  meaning.  Burns 
says  in  tuneful  numbers,  that  rank  is  but  the  guinea's 
(money)  stamp  and  that  man's  the  gold  for  all  that.  What 
if  he  does  dine  on  poor  grub  and  wears  poor  clothes;  give 
fools  their  silks  and  knaves  their  wine,  a  man's  a  man  for  all 
that.  "The  honest  man  though  e'er  so  poor,  is  king  of  men 
for  all  that."  How  does  that  strike  you?  Look  deep  down  in 
your  heart  and  ask  yourself  if  it  is  true.  "You  see  that  per- 
son, called  a  lord,  who  struts  and  stares  and  all  that;  though 
hundreds  worship  at  his  word  he  is  not  much  for  all  that; 
his  riband,  star  and  a'  that,  the  man  of  independent  mind, 
he  looks  and  laughs  at  all  that." 

These  sentiments  were  declared  by  a  peasant-born  lad 
who  lived  in  a  country  where  noblemen  flourished  and  were 
regarded  with  awe  and  reverence  by  people  of  his  rank,  but 
he  could  estimate  them  at  their  true  worth.  Burns  was  a 
republican  at  heart,  a  true  child  of  nature.  His  genius  could 
perceive  that  noblemen  were  no  better  than  ordinary  folk, 
even  though  they  had  been  born  to  the  purple.  Their  wealth 
procured  them  a  higher  education,  more  pleasures,  and  more 
accomplishments;  but  at  heart  they  were  no  different  from 
other  people. 

"A  prince  can  make  a  belted  knight;"  which  means  that 
royalty  can  bestow  honors  and  titles,  "but  an  honest  man's 
aboon  that,"  but  he  cannot  make  an  honest  man. 

"It's  coming  yet  for  a'  that,  that  man  to  man  the  world 
over,  shall  brothers  be  for  a'  that."  The  time  is  coming  but 
arriving  slowly,  when  all  men  will  be  brothers  and  this 
prophecy  of  a  poet  who  lived  over  150  years  ago  is  being 
fulfilled.  Robert  Burns  lived  before  the  United  States  and 
other  republics  were  born.  Is  not  the  brotherhood  of  man 
establishing  more  republics?  France,  since  Burns  wrote  his 
immortal  poem,  became  a  Republic  and  so  did  Portugal,  with 
other  countries  probably  to  follow.  In  time  there  may  be 
naught  but  the  brotherhood  of  man  and  equality,  liberty  and 


213 

fraternity  for  all.  "Honest  Poverty"  is  a  great  poem — simple, 
musical  and  true. 

Can  anyone  tell  me  why  Burns'  poem,  "Auld  Lang  Syne/' 
is  so  popular  and  why  it  is  sung  in  public  assemblages  the 
world  over?  Why  does  it  so  appeal  to  the  human  heart  and 
mind? 

Here  is  its  opening  stanza: 

Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot 
And  never  brought  to  min'? 
Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot 
And  days  o'  auld  lang  syne? 
For  auld  lang  syne,  my  dear, 
For  auld  lang  syne, 
We'll  tak  a  cup  o'  k'indness  yet 
For  auld  lang  syne. 

***** 

Burns  was  of  humble  parentage.  He  was  born  in  a  bunk, 
situated  in  the  kitchen  of  a  little  stone  hut  on  his  parents' 
farm  in  Ayrshire,  and  he  was  brought  up  on  the  farm.  He 
went  to  school  and  was  given  an  ordinary  education,  but 
like  the  bird  that  is  born  to  sing  and  soar,  so  Robbie  natur- 
ally sings,  and  he  soared  higher,  almost,  than  any  other  mortal 
ever  did. 

In  Scotland,  Sir  Walter  Scott  came  nearest  to  Burns  as 
a  poet,  although  Scott  far  surpassed  Burns  as  a  prose  writer. 
Burns  died  before  he  had  attained  his  fortieth  year  and  had 
not  had  a  fair  opportunity  to  perfect  himself  as  a  prose  writer. 
I  do  wish  that  I  could  devote  a  whole  chapter  to  Burns,  to 
say  as  much  of  him  as  I  would  like  to  say,  and  to  show  just 
why  he  is  so  venerated  today  by  Scottish  people,  and  others; 
I  fear  that  if  I  did  so,  this  book  would  become  too  voluminous 
and  possibly  weary  the  reader,  so  I  had  better  not  go  too 
far.  Only  a  few  words  more  about  him. 

Burns  was  born  and  raised  on  his  father's  farm  as  I 
said  before,  and  as  s.oon  as  he  was  able,  he  got  out  and  helped 
with  the  farm  work,  doing  chores,  plowing,  etc.  But,  even 
when  a  boy,  he  took  to  rhyming  and  wrote  down  his  thoughts 
on  paper  whenever  he  could.  He  kept  his  poems,  showed 


214 

them  to  his  friends,  and  some  of  his  discriminating  friends 
advised  him  to  have  them  printed.  He  took  his  writings  to 
a  town  near  by,  Kilmarnock,  where  he  placed  them  in  the 
hands  of  a  printer.  The  printer  agreed  to  put  the  poetry  in 
book  form  on  condition  that  a  certain  number  of  the  books 
be  subscribed  for  beforehand  so  as  to  secure  him  against 
loss.  The  subscriptions  were  obtained  and  the  book  was 
printed.  As  soon  as  the  book  appeared,  Burns  became  fam- 
ous. It  was  seen  at  once  that  he  had  genius  of  a  higher 
order.  Bobbie  was  a  very  handsome  boy  and  it  was  not 
long  before  everyone  began  to  admire  him,  including  the  girls. 
Not  a  few  of  the  girls  showed  him  plainly  how  much  they 
thought  of  him,  and  as  Bobby  was  human  he  reciprocated 
their  regard. 

The  result  was  that  a  few  of  the  girls  got  into  trouble 
and  it  was  not  long  before  several  wild-eyed  fathers  and 
brothers  went  a-gunning  for  the  poet,  but  when  matters  were 
explained  to  them  they  cooled  down  somewhat.  Some  of 
the  girls  who  ran  after  Burns  could  not  have  been  kept  away 
from  him  with  a  cannon.  One  girl,  Jean  Armour,  had  twins 
by  him  the  first  rattle  out  of  the  box  and  her  father  insisted 
on  marriage.  Bobbie  liked  Jean  well  enough  to  marry  her 
and  he  did  so.  Jean  had  deuce's  at  a  second  throw,  which 
convinced  people  that  Bobbie  could  wrestle  with  prose  as 
well  as  with  poetry.  These  things  are  a  matter  of  record 
and  nearly  all  ,the  world  knows  them.  They  are  not  figments 
of  my  brain. 

Quite  a  number  of  children  were  born  to  Burns  and  his 
wife,  and  the  poor  poet  had  many  trials  and  tribulations,  but 
he  continued  to  write  and  gained  money  and  fame.  He  was 
not  much  of  a  business  man  or  financier  and  did  not  manage 
well.  The  result  was  that  he  was  nearly  always  in  hot  water. 
By  this  time,  though,  his  fame  had  spread  all  over  the  world 
and  he  became  more  and  more  popular.  Society  ran  after 
him  and  lionized  him,  but  Bobbie  was  not  cut  out  for  a  society 
lion. 

It  is   a  strange  fact  and  a  true  one  that  those  mortals 


215 

possessing  the  greatest  genius  were  usually  the  simplest,  and 
did  not«put  on  style  or  airs.  They  knew  and  understood  that 
they  were  born  with  the  divine  afflatus,  but  as  it  came  to 
them  naturally  they  took  it  as  a  matter  of  course,  like  any- 
thing else  that  they  are  not  responsible  for.  Though  their 
native  wit,  talent,  genius,  ability — call  it  what  you  will — • 
may  have  been  colossal,  they  were  diffident,  fearful,  and 
dubious  of  their  own  powers.  They  felt  that  they  were  born 
to  soar  but  they  knew  not  how  high.  That  was  the  case 
with  Burns  and  many  others.  Experience  only  begat  confi- 
dence. Burns  felt  that  he  had  some  ability,  but  he  thought 
there  were  others  far  abler  than  he,  and  whom  he  looked 
upon  with  awe  and  admiration.  I  refer  to  Allan  Ramsay, 
Robert  Ferguson  and  other  poets  who  proceeded  him.  Yet 
Burns  was  superior  to  them  all,  immeasurably  so. 

To  demonstrate  how  Burns  regarded  himself,  I  will  re- 
print here  the  preface  .to  his  first  volume  of  poems  which  he 
had  printed  at  Kilmarnock  and  which  was  sold  by  subscrip- 
tion, as  I  mentioned  before.  This  is  it: 

"The  following  trifles  are  not  the  production  of  the  poet, 
who,  with  all  the  advantages  of  learned  art  and  perhaps  amid 
the  elegancies  and  idleness  of  upper  life  looks  down  for  a 
moral  theme  with  an  eye  to  Theocritus  or  Virgil.  Unac- 
quainted with  the  necessary  requisites  for  commencing  poetry 
by  rule,  he  sings  the  sentiments  and  manners  he  felt  and  saw 
in  himself  and  his  rustic  compeers  around  him,  in  his  and 
their  native  language.  Though  a  rhymer  from  his  earliest 
years  it  was  not  till  very  lately  that  the  applause  (perhaps 
the  partiality)  of  friendship  awakened  his  vanity  so  as  to 
make  him  think  anything  of  his  worth  showing,  for  none  of 
the  poems  were  composed  with  a  view  to  the  press.  To  amuse 
himself  with  the  little  creations  of  his  own  fancy  amid  the 
toil  and  fatigue  of  a  laborious  life,  these  were  his  motives 
for  courting  the  muses.  Now  that  he  appears  in  the  public 
character  of  an  author,  he  does  it  with  fear  and  trembling. 
So  dear  is  fame  to  the  rhyming  tribe  that  even  he,  an  obscure, 
nameless  bard,  shrinks  aghast  at  the  thought  of  being  brand- 


21G 

ed  as  an  impertinent  blockhead,  obtruding  his  nonsense  on 
the  world;  and  because  he  can  make  shift  to  jingl$  a  few 
doggerel  Scottish  rhymes  together,  looking  upon  himself  as 
a  poet  of  no  small  consequence,  forsooth!  If  any  critic 
catches  at  the  word  genius,  the  author  tells  him  once  for  all, 
that  he  certainly  looks  upon  himself  as  possessed  of  some 
poetic  abilities,  otherwise  the  publishing,  in  the  manner  he 
has  done,  would  be  a  maneuver  below  the  worst  character  his 
worst  enemy  will  ever  give  him.  But  to  the  genius  of  an 
Allan  Ramsay  or  a  Robert  Ferguson,  (the  prominent  type  is 
mine — Windy  Bill's),  he  has  not  the  least  pretension,  nor 
ever  had,  even  in  his  highest  pulse  of  vanity.  These  two 
justly  admired  Scottish  poets  he  has  often  had  in  his  eye  but 
rather  to  kindle  in  their  flame  than  for  servile  imitation." 

Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  Burns  feared  the  critics,  and 
that  he  was  dubious  of  his  own  powers;  and  that  he  rated 
himself  below  Ramsay  and  Ferguson. 

Burn's  native  wit  was  greater  than  that  of  all  other 
Scottish  poets,  and  as  time  rolls  on  his  popularity  increases 
rather  than  diminishes.  As  an  evidence  of  this  fact,  his  grave 
and  birthplace  are  visited  by  a  multitude  of  strangers  every 
year.  How  many  know  anything  of,  or  visit  the  stamping 
ground,  of  other  Scottish  poets? 

I  had  a  pretty  good  time  in  Glasgow.  I  rode  in  the 
trams  down  either  side  of  the  River  Clyde,  to  outlying  dis- 
tricts, through  the  maze  of  streets;  I  took  a  boat  ride-  to 
Dunoon,  and  to  Rothesay  on  the  Isle  of  Bute  and  enjoyed  my- 
self hugely.  Had  I  only  been  wealthy,  wouldn't  I  have  given 
the  boys  and  girls  a  good  time?  Well,  you  can  bet  your 
bottom  dollar  that  I  would  have  done  so,  and  painted  the 
town  red,  but  alas,  the  mind  was  willing  but  the  purse  was 
weak. 

My  landlady  was  very  good  to  me  and  I  hated  to  leave 
her,  but  then  it  was  a  case  of  "needcessity,"  as  the  fellow 
said;  in  other  words,  a  case  of  have  to. 

Edinburgh  was  my  next  objective  point.  Edinburgh  is 
about  fifty  or  sixty  miles  from  Glasgow,  in  an  almost  due  east 


217 

direction,  and  as  the  railroad  fare  in  Scotland  is  a  penny  (two 
cents)  a  mile,  third  class,  that  price  is  cheaper  than  walking  or 
staying  at  home.  Therefore  I  rode.  A  'bo  never  hikes  it  un- 
less he  has  to,  and  in  this  case  I  didn't  have  to,  for  I  had 
money  in  my  purse.  I  wasn't  broke  yet,  although  pretty 
near  it. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 
EDINBURGH. 

Edina,  Scotia's  darling  Seat, 

All  hail,  thy  palaces  and  towers, 

Where  once  beneath  a  monarch's  feet, 

Sate    legislation's    sovereign   powers. — Robert    Burns. 

Edinburgh  is  an  altogether  different  city  from  Glasgow. 
It  has  only  about  250,000  people  and  is  the  capital  of  Scotland, 
but  it  is  not  a  commercial  city;  it  is  a  show  town.  It  is  one 
of  the  handsomest  cities  in  the  world  and  by  far  the  most 
interesting  one  that  I  was  ever  in.  Like  Seattle,  Tacoma, 
Portland,  Council  Bluffs,  San  Francisco,  and  some  other 
cities  that  I  had  been  in,  it  is  full  of  hills,  mountains  and 
valleys,  and  seems  picturesque.  A  diversity  of  scenery  con- 
duces to  make  almost  any  place  so;  but  Edinburgh  is  more 
than  naturally  beautiful.  It  is  enhanced  by  art.  Besides, 
it  is  historical  and  classical  in  outlines.  It  is  full  of  rare 
and  ancient  palaces,  towers,  buildings,  streets,  squares,  mar- 
ket places,  closes,  wynds,  etc.;  and  wears  a  medieval  aspect 
that  gives  one  an  idea  of  what  things  were  in  the  long  ago. 

The  people  in  Scotland  love  Edinburgh  and  call  it  by  pet 
names,  such  as  Edinboro,  Edina,  Scotia's  darling  seat,  the 
Athens  of  the  North,  etc.,  and  it  is  worthy  of  all  the  love  they 
can  bestow  upon  it. 

Right  in  the  center  of  the  city  stands  a  mountain  nearly 
a  thousand  feet  high  which  is  crowned  by  a  fortified  place, 
Edinburgh  Castle,  and  which  is  almost  as  old  as  the  hill 


218 

that  it  stands  .on.  In  remote  ages  when  man  was  in  the  bar- 
baric stage  and  when  might  made  right,  castles  were  built 
for  protection,  around  which  the  humble  people  built  their 
dwellings,  so  that  when  a  foe  swept  down  on  them  they  could 
fly  to  its  sheltering  walls  for  protection.  In  barbaric  ages 
people  hardly  knew  enough  to  cook  their  meat  for  they  placed 
it  on  a  saddle  beneath  their  person  and  galloped  their  horses 
about  until  the  meat  was  tender.  Then  they  ate  it.  Maybe 
you  think  this. is  a  hobo  yarn?  Well,  it  is  not. 

Edinburgh  castle  as  it  stands  today  is  not  the  original 
building,  for  the  original  one  was  built  long  before  any 
records  were  kept,  a  thousand,  maybe  thousands  of  years  ago. 
The  castle  was  destroyed  and  rebuilt  several  times.  It  stands 
today  huge  and  massive  as  the  rocks,  and  a  wonderfully  in- 
teresting structure  it  is.  It  was  built  so  high  up  so  as  to 
sweep  the  foe  off  the  face  of  the  earth  as  he  approached  on 
the  plains  far  below,  but  if  the  foe  escaped  from  this  peril 
and  approached  the  castle  to  capture  it,  then  he  had  a  few 
hard  nuts  to  crack. 

Firstly,  he  would  have  to  storm  a  thick  and  lofty  stone 
wall  away  down  on  the  mountain  side.  If  he  captured  that, 
then  there  was  a  wall  to  overcome  further  up  the  steep  hill. 
If  he  were  lucky  enough  to  capture  this  barrier,  then  he  could 
gain  the  esplanade  of  the  castle,  which  is  an  open  space,  a  drill 
ground  in  front  of  the  castle.  Here  his  real  troubles  would 
begin,  for  right  in  front  of  the  massive  walls  of  the  castle 
there  is  a  ditch  about  twenty  feet  deep,  (called  a  moat), 
which  was  full  of  water  and  sufficiently  wide  to  prevent  any 
one  from  leaping  across  it. 

The  drawbridge  lowered  by  a  portcullis — a  sort  of  pulley 
and  chain  affair — led  over  the  moat,  but  it  was  raised  as  soon 
as  the  enemy  appeared.  Thus,  he  could  not  cross  the  moat 
to  gain  the  gateway.  The  walls  in  which  the  gate  is  affixed 
are  of  stone  and  twenty  or  thirty  feet  in  thickness.  Had 
the  foe  gained  an  entrance  through  this  gateway  then  he 
would  have  found  himself  in  the  castle  yard,  but  by  no  means 
in  the  castle  itself,  for  there  stood  a  fort,  almost  impregnable. 


219 

There  were  men  of  military  genius  in  the  centuries  gone 
by,  as  there  are  in  this,  who  could  devise  means  to  attack 
successfully  as  well  as  to  defend,  so  that  Edinboro  Castle 
like  every  other  structure  of  its  kind,  is  by  no  means  in- 
vulnerable. It  would  not  last  long  against  modern  guns, 
maybe.  In  fact,  Edinboro  Castle,  huge  and  strong  as  it  is, 
never  was  invulnerable.  In  romances  it  has  been  shown  how 
such  castles  were  captured,  but  the  real  battle  scenes  were 
far  more  horrible  than  depicted. 

When  an  old  castle  was  assaulted,  huge  rocks  were 
hurled  through  the  air  by  means  of  ponderous  machines; 
javelins,  arrows  and  darts  were  thrown  or  shot,  some  bearing 
masses  of  blazing  pitch  and  tow,  with  occassionally,  per- 
haps, an  arrow  carrying  a  message  from  a  traitor.  Barrels 
of  Greek  fire  were  used  by  the  defenders,  or  boiling  oil, 
melted  pitch,  molten  lead,  unslacked  lime,  etc.  Towers  were 
built  by  the  besiegers  with  rollers,  so  they  could  be  rolled  up 
to  the  castle  walls,  and  men  mounted  them  to  spring  on  the 
ramparts  of  the  castle  to  fight  at  close  quarters.  The  founda- 
tions of  a  castle  were  undermined,  and  in  other  ways  assaults 
were  made. 

While  a  castle  was  being  besieged  the  scenes  were 
awful.  There  was  a  wild  and  horrid  confusion  of  terrible 
sounds,  the  din  of  armor,  the  shouting  of  battle  cries,  the 
groaning  of  dying  men,  the  crash  of  falling  stones,  timbers 
and  crumbling  walls.  Men  shrieked  in  agony  as  they  were 
burned  by  the  hot  oil,  melted  pitch  or  molten  lead,  and  the 
actual  scenes  were  indescribable.  Romance  never  has  related 
the  true  horrors  of  such  scenes.  But  I  am  a  little  ahead  of 
my  story. 

As  the  distance  between  Glasgow  and  Edinboro  is  rather 
short  and  the  passenger  traffic  between  the  two  places  heavy, 
trains  run  hourly,  almost.  •  I  left  Glasgow  on  one  of  the  earl- 
iest trains  and  got  to  Edinboro  before  eight  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  This  gave  me  a  big,  long  day  for  sightseeing.  The 
first  thing  I  intended  to  do  was  to  rent  a  furnished  room  so 
that  I  would  have  a  home  to  go  to. 


220 

I  arrived  in  the  Caledonian  Railroad  station  in  Edinboro, 
which  is  not  quite  so  large  a  one  as  St.  Enoch's  in  Glasgow, 
but  it  is  a  large  and  fine  one,  nevertheless.  When  1  stepped 
outside  I  found  myself  in  a  large  public  square  from  which 
radiated  wide,  clear,  stone  paved  streets.  Straight  ahead  of 
me  extended  Princes  street,  the  leading  one  in  town,  and  in 
another  direction  lay  the  Lothian  Road  along  which  I  walked 
leisurely,  reconnoitering  carefully  as  I  went.  The  houses, 
stores  and  everything  in  that  locality  seemed  neat  and  pre- 
cise, and  along  there,  were  hotels,  restaurants  and  not  a  few 
high  class  stores. "  From  the  Lothian  Road  radiated  many 
streets,  for  it  was  avenue-like.  Some  of  these  streets  were 
by  no  means  fine  ones,  for  they  were  inhabited  by  poor  peo- 
ple whose  domiciles  were  ancient  and  odd. 

I  turned  up  Spittal  street  and  after  going  into  various 
houses  where  "Room  to  Let"  signs  were  displayed,  finally 
secured  a  room  on  the  top  floor  of  a  house  on  Spittal  street, 
in  a  flat  occupied  by  a  large  family.  This  family  had  recently 
arrived  from  the  north  country  of  Scotland  with  the  intention 
of  trying  their  luck  in  Edinboro. 

The  family  consisted  of  father,  mother,  five  girls  and 
four  boys.  Two  sons  were  grown  up  and  married  and  did  not 
live  at  home  with  their  parents,  and  the  same  may  be  said 
of  the  oldest  daughter;  but  there  were  four  girls  living  at 
home  and  two  little  boys  with  whom  I  slept.  The  name  of 
these  people  were  Cameron  and  I  believe  they  were  "Heelan" 
(Highland).  The  father  was  tall,  bony  and  wiry,  with  an 
erect  carriage  and  the  eye  of  an  eagle,  sharp  and  grey. 
Though  he  was  about  fifty  years  of  age  he  was  a  remarkable 
athlete  and  besides,  a  good  musician,  a  champion  at  checker 
playing,  (draughts),  and  accomplished  in  several  other  ways 
as  well. 

The  mother  was  built  on  the  same  plan  as  the  father, 
for  she  was  tall  and  gaunt,  had  a  gray  eye  and  was  erect; 
she  was  very  gentle  though,  yet  she  could  be  fierce  enough 
if  driven  to  it.  The  girls  were  light-haired  and  sylph-like  in 
shape  and  engaging  in  manner — everyone  of  them.  Violet, 


221 

the  married  daughter,  often  came  home  on  a  visit  to  her 
parents,  for  she  lived  close  by. 

"Vi,"  as  her  folks  called  her  was  the  prettiest  of  all  the 
sisters  and  was  a  musician  of  no  mean  ability.  She  played 
the  piano  and  guitar  and  sang.  She  had  been  on  the  stage 
but  had  left  it  at  her  husband's  request.  The  Camerons  were 
having  a  hard  struggle  just  then  to  make  both  ends  meet 
and  that  is  why  they  accepted  me  as  a  roomer.  The  kiddies 
with  whom  I  bunked  were  chubby  little  fellows  with  dirty 
faces,  generally,  and  running  noses,  but  like  all  Scottish 
children  they  were  well  behaved,  decent,  orderly  and  quiet, 
and  very  bashful  and  respectful  toward  their  elders.  They 
could  be  noisy  enough  when  playing  in  the  street  with  other 
children.  But  Scottish  children  are  rarely  rude,  rough  or 
boisterous.  A  word  from  a  grown-up  person  will  usually 
quiet  them  instantly.  Obedience  and  respect  seem  to  be  born 
in  them. 

I  had  no  trouble  renting  the  room,  for  Mrs.  Cameron  was 
an  agreeable  lady  to  deal  with,  and  after  I  had  rented  the 
room  I  soon  went  forth  to  see  the  Castle  which  was  only  a 
few  blocks  away  and  could  be  seen  from  my  domicile  window. 
I  had  never  seen  a  structure  like  that  before  and  that  is  why 
I  was  so  eager  and  anxious  to  go  forth. 

After  about  a  two  minutes'  walk  through  Spittal  street 
and  past  Castle  Terrace  street,  I  came  upon  the  thorough- 
fare that  led  up  to  the  castle.  It  was  a  well  paved  street  up 
which  pedestrians  as  well  as  vehicles  could  go,  for  the  incline 
was  gradual.  A  little  way  up  along  this  street  there  stands 
a  long,  stone  building  which  is  used  as  the  quarters  for  the 
officers  who  are  in  command  of  the  soldiers  stationed  in  the 
barracks,  within  the  castle  walls.  The  word  castle  means  a 
fortified  place.  The  barracks  in  the  castle  yard  contain 
accommodations  for  about  a  thousand  soldiers  (a  regiment), 
and  the  barracks  have  been  in  the  castle  yard  since  time  im- 
memorial. I  gained  the  top  of  the  hill  on  which  the  Castle 
is  built  without  any  effort  and  found  myself  at  the  esplanade, 
which  is  the  drillground  outside  the  castle  walls.  The  espla- 


222 

nade  is  capacious,  for  a  drillground  naturally  would  have  to 
be  so,  and  from  it  a  charming  view  of  Edinboro  can  be  had. 
Nearly  the  whole  city  lies  on  a  plain  surrounding  the  hill. 

It  is  a  fine  thing  to  view  Edinboro  from  the  esplanade, 
but  even  a  better  view  can  be  had  from  on  top  of  the  castle 
battlements. 

At  the  drawbridge  in  front  of  the  moat  paced  a  sentinel, 
who  looked  cute  in  red  coat  and  little  cap  set  at  the  side  of 
his  head.  I  expected  that  he  would  stop  me,  if  I  tried  to 
cross  the  drawbridge  to  enter  the  castle  yard,  but  not  a  word 
did  he  say  to  me  when  I  tried  it.  Thereupon,  1  walked 
through  the  stone  gateway  and  marvelled  at  the  thickness 
of  the  walls;  they  must  have  been  about  thirty  feet  in  thick- 
ness. After  passing  through  the  gateway  I  found  myself  in 
the  castle  yard.  In  the  yard  was  a  pathway  which  wound 
upward,  and  along  it  were  outbuildings  of  various  kinds, 
such  as  storehouses,  woodsheds,  ammunition  huts,  lodges  for 
the  attendants.,  all  built  of  stone.  I  walked  up  along  the 
stone  paved  and  rather  steep  pathway  to  find  myself  on  the 
ramparts  of  the  castle,  along  which  stands  the  castle  build- 
ing proper,  the  soldiers'  barracks,  St.  Margaret's  Chapel,  and 
batteries  of  guns.  Have  you  ever  heard  or  read  of  old  "Mons 
Meg,"  the  cannon  so  renowned  in  song  and  story?  Well, 
here  she  stands,  large  as  life,  on  the  Half-Moon  Castle  Bat- 
tery. She  is  fit  for  ornament  rather  than  for  use  these  days, 
for  she  is  too  old  for  service.  She  has  been  in  half  a  dozen 
sieges  and  has  been  captured  and  recaptured  many  a  time. 

The  old  Castle  itself  is  four  stories  .in  height,  is  battle- 
mented  and  has  a  tower  in  the  centre  of  the  facade  which 
is  surmounted  by  a  clock.  The  Castle  proper  is  not  fortified, 
for  the  fortalice  stands  in  front  of  it  and  guards  it.  I  entered 
the  Castle  and  found  that  its  rooms  were  not  furnished  at  all. 
In  fact,  the  rooms  have  not  been  occupied  for  centuries.  The 
walls  are  immensely  thick,  the  floors  are  stone  paved  and 
the  ceilings  are  of  stone,  and  rather  low.  They  would  form 
rather  a  dismal  and  dark  abode  these  days,  but  no  one  lives 
in  them,  except  possibly  guides  and  wardens.  One  official  is 


223 

in  charge  of  the  banquetting  hall,  which  is  now  used  for  the 
display  of  a  fine  collection  of  armor  and  this  official  sells 
printed  matter  relating  to  it. 

In  an  upper  chamber,  which  is  low  ceiled,  dark  and 
gloomy,  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  was  confined  of  her  son  James 
VI.  of  Scotland  and  England.  Mary's  confinement  chamber 
to  me  seemed  more  like  a  prison  than  anything  else,  for  its 
windows  were  deep,  set  in  the  stone  walls.  Some  of  the 
streets  of  Edinboro,  below  can  be  seen  from  this  window  and 
they  seem  miles  away.  The  banquet  hall  which  used  to  be 
the  main  living  room,  is  the  largest  in  the  Castle  and  is  noble 
in  dimensions.  It  is  stocked  with  Scottish  armor  and  weap- 
ons of  many  periods,  and  I  contemplated  some  of  the  weapons 
with  awe.  Here  were  battle-axes,  halberts,  pikes,  blunder- 
busses, pistols,  Lochaber  axes,  swords,  etc.,  and  some  of  them 
could  have  inflicted  frightful  wounds— could  have  cleft  a  man 
from  head  to  waist. 

In  an  upper  room  the  'regalia  of  Scotland  is  kept.  This 
regalia  was  worn  by  Scottish  royalty  at  one  time  and  it  is 
well  taken  care  of  and  treasured. 

Ireland  is  striving  for  Home  Rule  these  days,  and  may 
get  it,  so  possibly  Scotland  some  day  may  strive  for  Home 
Rule  too.  If  Scotland  gets  it,  then  the  royal  regalia  in  the 
Castle  tower  will  come  in  handy,  that  is,  if  Scotland  chooses 
a  king  to  rule  over  her.  I  don't  suppose  Scotland  would  fancy 
a  republican  form  of  government. 

Below  the  rocky  foundations  of  the  Castle  are  dungeons 
and  oubliettes  in  which  prisoners  in  past  times  were  con- 
fined, and  a  sight  of  these  oubliettes  and  dungeons  fills  one 
with  sorrow  and  pity  for  those  who  had  been  confined  there, 
for  they  were  awful  places.  How  awfully  cruel  were  people 
in  the  days  that  have  gone  by.  It  is  well  that  we  live  in  a 
more  enlightened  age,  though  even  today  cruel  deeds  are 
done. 

I  inspected  the  Castle  thoroughly  and  visited  it  so  many 
times  afterward  that  the  guards  got  to  know  me  quite  well, 
and  often  chatted  with  me. 


224 

After  leaving  the  Castle  I  descended  several  stairways 
and  walked  through  wynds  and  closes  (courts  and  alleys)  to 
the  foot  of  the  hill  on  which  the  Castle  stands,  where  1 
reached  the  Grassmarket.  This  is  a  large  and  historic  old 
plaza  or  square,  which  is  used  as  a  market  place  once  or 
twice  a  week  these  days,  and  in  former  days  served  as  an 
execution  place,  where  criminals  were  put  to  death.  Along 
the  Grassmarket  stand  several  inns  that  are  hundreds  of  years 
old,  which  are  famous  for  having  been  the  stopping  places  of 
historical  characters.  They  are  doing  a  good  business  today. 
Among  these  is  the  Black  Bull,  the  White  Hart,  and  one  or 
two  others  of  lesser  renown.  There  are  also  many  old  fash- 
ioned stores,  restaurants,  business  establishments,  lodging 
houses,  etc.,  along  the  Grassmarket  and  also  a  police  station, 
which  is  necessary,  for  this  is  a  pretty  tough  locality.  It  has 
not  changed  in  appearance  much  in  centuries. 

It  gives  one  an  idea  of  what  the  Middle  Ages  were  like.  It 
was  a  revelation  to  me  to  observe  the  queer  little  shops, 
grocery  and  others.  Things  are  sold  pretty  cheap  in  this 
locality.  I  picked  up  a  circular  that  was  lying  on  the  side- 
walk and  found  the  following  verse  printed  on  it: 

The  tid-bits  sold  at  Armour's  bar 
They're  famed  both  near  and  far. 

Bought  by  all,  both  saint  and  sinner, 
(9  cents)  a  princely  dinner. 


I  came  upon  a  fairly  neat-appearing  place  on  the  Grass- 
market  at  the  front  of  which  was  advertised  in  large  letters, 
"Fish  suppers,  2d,"  so  I  thought  I'd  go  in  and  try  my  luck. 
When  I  stepped  in  I  found  myself  in  a  large  apartment  in 
which  there  was  a  huge  fire  place,  at  which  fish  and  potatoes 
were  being  fried. 

The  savory  odor  that  smote  me  as  I  entered  was  agree- 
able. On  one  side  of  the  apartment  opposite  the  grill  were 
tables  and  benches  that  were  enclosed  in  pew-like  sub- 
divisions. One  of  these  pews  would  hold  two  or  three  per- 
sons. I  ordered  a  fish  supper,  whereupon  a  medium  sized 


225 

dinner  plate  heaped  full  of  french  fried  potatoes  and  fried 
fish  of  some  sort,  I  think  it  was  large  herrings,  was  set  be- 
fore me.  The  fish  and  potatoes  were  delicious,  so  delicious 
in  fact,  that  I  felt  I  could  stand  another  dose.  The  second 
helping  filled  me  to  the  brim.  Thus  for  eight  cents  I  had  a 
satisfying  and  substantial  meal.  A  fellow  can  live  pretty  cheap 
in  Scotland,  I  imagined,  if  he  learns  how. 

After  emerging  from  the  restaurant  I  sauntered  through 
the  Lawnmarket  which  lies  adjacent  to  the  Grassmarket,  and 
then  passed  along  the  High  street,  a  very  busy  thoroughfare. 
What  Americans  would  name  "Main  street"  in  a  town  or  vil- 
lage, the  British  name,  "High  street,"  and  High  street  in 
Scottish  towns  in  the  long  ago,  was  always  the  main  street; 
but  the  High  street  in  Edinboro  is  no  longer  the  principal 
thoroughfare,  nor  has  it  been  for  centuries.  Princes  street 
has  long  been  the  main  thoroughfare  in  Edinboro  and  it  is 
a  charming  one,  having  the  Castle  Park  at  one  side  of  it  and 
business  houses  on  the  other  side. 

The  High  street  is  a  busy  thoroughfare  nevertheless, 
though  it  is  rather  narrow.  It  is  stone  paved,  old  and  quaint. 
The  stores  along  it  cater  to  the  working  people's  trade,  but 
they  are  fitted  up  attractively,  and  in  their  windows  are  dis- 
played big  stocks  of  goods  at  compelling  prices. 

I  came  upon  an  ancient  public  square  upon  which  the 
Scottish  House  of  Parliament  stands.  As  Parliament  House 
is  no  longer  used  for  legislative  purposes,  its  many  halls, 
chambers  and  courts  have  been  converted  into  law  courts  and 
chambers.  Here  the  Civil  Courts  will  be  found.  The  vast 
Assembly  Chamber  wherein  the  Scottish  Parliament  sat  sev- 
eral hundred  years  ago,  long  has  been  used  by  lawyers,  who 
walk  back  and  forth  in  its  historic  confines  attired  in  cap  and 
gown  in  quest  of  clients,  for  whenever  anyone  needs  the 
services  of  a  lawyer  he  can  take  his  choice  here  of  many. 
Some  fledgeling  lawyers  usually  have  a  hard  time  of  it  secur- 
ing clients,  and  often  haunt  the  Hall  for  years  before  they 
secure  one.  The  chaps  with  an  established  reputation  get 
the  business.  It  was  the  hap  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  to  walk 


226 

this  Hall  for  clients  when  he  was  first  admitted  tc  the  bar 
and  he  walked  so  long  and  so  fruitlessly  that  he  became  dis- 
gusted and  abandoned  the  profession  of  law.  He  afterward 
secured  a  position,  through  influence,  as  Clerk  of  Sessions. 
This  was  before  he  had  taken  to  literature  and  became  fam- 
mous.  Much  would  I  like  to  say  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  one  of  the 
greatest  novelists  the  world  has  ever  produced,  but  I  fear  I 
shall  have  to  forego  the  pleasure  for  I  don't  want  to  make 
this  narrative  a  two  volume  affair. 

After  I  had  inspected  the  old  Scottish  Parliament  House 
to  my  heart's  content  (I  visited  it  several  times  afterward), 
I  passed  down  into  the  Canongate,  an  historic  old  street.  It 
is  a  narrower  thoroughfare  even  than  the  High  street,  but 
at  one  time — in  the  Middle  Ages  and  earlier — it  was  the 
leading  street  of  Edinboro,  in  which  dwelt  the  nobility.  Here 
were  located  their  fine  establishments  and  palaces,  but  time 
has  made  wonderful  changes  here.  As  the  city  increased  in 
size  the  nobility  found  more  desirable  sites  and  there  they 
moved.  Their  fine  houses  were  dwelt  in  by  others,  and  today 
they  are  mere  tenement  houses,  occupied  by  the  poorest  of 
people. 

The  exterior  of  a  few  of  these  buildings  still  have  armor- 
ial bearings  on  them,  but  the  structures  are  black  and  grimy 
from  age  and  dirt.  The  White  Horse  Inn,  which  stands  in  the 
White  Horse  Close,  (court),  along  the  Canongate,  is  a  very 
ancient  and  famous  hostelry,  and  is  well  known  in  song 
and  story.  I  had  a  good  look  at  it  and  visited  it  many 
a  time  afterward,  attracted  by  its  quaintness  and  oddity, 
but,  today  its  various  buildings  and  outbuildings  have 
been  subdivided  into  flats,  or  tenements,  which  are  occu- 
pied by  poor  people  who  vegetate  there  at  a  low  ren- 
tal. This  hostelry  at  one  time  was  quite  the  rage,  and 
noblemen  and  princes  gathered  there  to  eat,  drink  and  be 
merry. 

The  old  Tolbooth  (prison)  still  stands  on  the  Canongate 
but  its  various  apartments  have  been  converted  into  assembly 


227 

rooms,  in  which  lodges  and  other  societies  meet.     The  To]- 
booth  is  a  rare  old  relic  of  ancient  days. 

At  the  foot  of  the  Canongate  which  lies  about  a  mile 
distant  from  Edinboro  Castle,  stands  Holyrood  Palace,  a 
structure  not  as  old  as  the  Castle  by  many  centuries,  but  a 
historic  old  place  for  all  that. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
HOLYROOD  PALACE. 

Holyrood  Palace  stands  in  a  valley  at  the  base  of  a  lot 
of  bare  and  lofty  hills  called  the  Salisbury  Crags,  the  highest 
one  of  which  was  named  Arthur's  Seat,  for  it  looks  like  a 
throne  with  a  back  to  it.  The  palace  stands  in  spacious 
grounds  that  are  enclosed  by  an  ornamental  iron  fence  of 
royal  design. 

The  palace  is  not  of  any  great  extent,  beautiful  or  orna- 
mental, but  it  is  just  rather  a  substantial  white  marble  or 
stone  structure  having  a  few  pretty  little  flanking  towers 
along  its  front  and  sides,  and  that  is  about  all.  The  palace  is  an 
open  square,  built  around  a  court,  with  the  right  wing  re- 
served for  the  use  of  royalty  when  it  deigns  to  visit  Edinboro. 
The  King  of  England  visited  Scotland  and  lived  at  Holyrood 
several  days  in  1912.  The  left  wing  (which  once  was  used 
by  royalty  but  is  not  today)  is  open  for  the  inspection  of 
visitors. 

Holyrood  has  a  most  interesting  history,  as  many  a 
king  and  queen  lived  in  it  and  held  court  there,  but  the  fact 
that  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  dwelt  at  Holyrood  during  a  period 
throws  a  glamor  of  romance  about  it  that  it  would  not  other- 
wise possess.  Mary  was  by  far  the  most  interesting  sovereign 
who  ever  ruled  in  Scotland.  She  was  the  daughter  of  James 
V,  a  merry  and  licentious  monarch,  and  of  Mary  of  Guise,  of 
France.  Queen  Mary  of  Scots  was  born  and  raised  in  France 


228 

and  at  an  early  age  was  married  to  the  Dauphin  of  France; 
but  the  Dauphin  was  delicate  from  birth  and  died  soon  after 
marriage.  Mary  loved  the  noble  and  royal  boy  and  was  much 
affected  by  his  -death.  Mary's  mother,  too,  died  at  about  the 
same  time,  which  saddened  her  yet,  more.  As  the  throne 
of  Scotland  was  hers  by  right  of  inheritance,  her  uncles 
(dukes  of  France)  and  other  relatives  advised  her  to  go  to 
Scotland  and  rule  her  country.  Mary  did  not  like  to  leave 
France,  for  her  heart  was  buried  there,  but  as  she  was  an 
obedient  and  dutiful  girl,  she  did  as  she  was  advised,  but 
rued  it  afterward  as  did  her  high  born  relatives  in  France, 
bitterly. 

Mary  was  the  handsomest  woman  of  her  time.  She  was 
tall,  fair  and  stately,  had  pretty  eyes,  eyebrows  that  seemed 
penciled,  small  hands  and  feet,  a  majestic  figure  and  a  warm, 
deep  and  passionate  heart.  She  was  a  woman  first  and  a 
queen  afterward.  She  possessed  all  the  accomplishments  of 
a  queen  and  a  grasp  of  worldly  affairs  which  is  so  useful  in 
life,  but  her  judgment  was  not  as  good  as  it  might  have  been. 
As  a  musician  she  was  incomparable,  for  she  could  sing,  and 
played  well  on  the  lute  and  viol  d'  amour  (love  viol),  a  sort 
of  mandolin.  She  had  literary  ability  of  a  high  order  and  was 
a  poetess  as  well.  Witness  the  following  lament  to  her 
husband,  the  Dauphin  of  France,  which  she  wrote: 

'  Into  my  song  of  woe 
Sung  to  a  low,  sad  air, 
My  cruel  grief  I  throw 
For  loss  beyond  compare. 
In  bitter  sighs  and  tears 
Go  by  my  fairest  years. 

Was  ever  grief  like  mine 

Imposed  by  destiny? 

Did  ever  lady  pine 

In  high  estate  like  me, 

Of  whom  both  heart  and  eye 

Within  the  coffin  lie? 


229 

Who,  in  the  tender  spring 
And  blossom  of  my  youth, 
Taste  all  the  sorrowing 
Of  life's  extremest  ruth; 
And  take  delight  in  naught 
Save  in  regretful  thought. 

All  that  was  sweet  and  gay 
Is  now  a  pain  to  see; 
The  sunniness  of  day 
Is  black  as  night  to  me; 
All  that  was  my  delight 
Is  hidden  from  my  sight. 

Tormented  by  my  ill 

I  go  from  place  to  place, 

But  wander  as  I  will 

My  woes  can  nought  efface; 

My  most  of  bad  and  good 

I  find  in  solitude. 

But  whereso'er  I  stay 
In  meadow  or  in  copse; 
Whether  at  break  of  day 
Or  when  the  twilight  drops, 
My  heart  goes  sighing  on, 
Desiring  one  that's  gone. 

When  my  bed  I  seek 
And  sleep  begins  to  steal, 
Again  I  hear  him  speak, 
Again  his  touch  I  feel. 
In  work  or  leisure,  he 
Is  ever  near  to  me. 

Here  make  an  end  my  verse 
Of  this  thy  sad  lament 
Whose  burden  shall  rehearse 
Pure  love  of  true  intent 
Which  separation's  stress 
Will  never  render  less. 

For  reasons  of  State,  soon  after  Mary  had  arrived  in 
Scotland  she  was  advised  to  marry  again;  and  Mary,  obedient 
as  usual,  consented.  Everyone  who  gazed  upon  her,  fell 


230 

under  the  spell  of  her  beauty,  for  it  was  royal,  matchless, 
superior  to  all  others.  Everyone  bowed  down  and  worship- 
ped her.  In  her  the  Scotch  and  French  blood  blended  most 
harmoniously.  Anyone  and  everyone  was  enthi  ailed  by 
her  beauty  and  manner,  but  Lord  Darnley,  a  son  of  the  Earl 
of  Lennox,  was  the  lucky  one  selected  for  her.  Darnley  was 
English,  and  one  of  the  handsomest  men  of  his  time,  and 
Mary  fell  in  love  with  him  at  first  sight.  They  were  married 
and  lived  at  Holyrood. 

Darnley  did  not  prove  to  be  a  good  husband,  however, 
for  his  disposition  was  not  as  nice  as  his  looks.  He  was 
selfish,  domineering,  obstinate  and  licentious,  and  Mary  soon 
tired  of  him  and  turned  to  hate  him. 

Among  her  courtiers  was  Rizzio,  the  son  of  an  Italian 
musician,  who  was  a  good  musician  himself  and  a  young  man 
of  talent  and  ability.  Upon  him  Mary  bestowed  the  favors 
which  she  denied  to  her  husband.  Darnley  became  jealous 
and  he  had  cause  to  be,  for  Mary  and  Rizzio  carried  on  an  in- 
trigue. 

I  have  read  a  great  many  authorities  on  this  subject  and 
I  am  satisfied  that  Mary  was  guilty.  Many  people  suspected 
that  JVIary  and  Rizzio  went  "nest-hiding,"  as  Henry  Ward 
Beecher  called  it,  and  Darnley  had  his  suspicions  too.  He 
hatched  a  conspiracy  to  assassinate  Rizzio  and  soon  after- 
ward Rizzio  was  stabbed  and  killed  by  noble  friends  of 
Darnley.  The  head  of  the  House  of  Hepburn,  the  Earl  of 
Bothwell,  tried  to  save  Rizzio,  but  in  vain.  Mary  fell  in  love 
with  Bothwell  because  he  stood  by  her  in  her  trouble,  and 
carried  on  a  guilty  intrigue  with  him.  She  married  him  after 
he  had  her  husband  Darnley  assassinated,  by  blowing  him 
up  with  gunpowder  in  a  house  in  Edinboro. 

After  these  events,  Mary  lost  caste  in  Scotland  and  her 
star  began  to  wane.  Many  of  her  subjects  despised  her  and 
her  lot  became  an  unhappy  one.  She  fled  to  England  and  put 
herself  in  the  power  of  her  rival,  Queen  Elizabeth,  who  had 
her  beheaded  after  keeping  her  in  prison  nineteen  years. 


231 

* 

I  mounted  a  stone  stairway  in  the  hallway  at  Holyrood, 
and  after  gaining  the  first  floor,  entered  the  rooms  that  had 
been  occupied  by  the  beauteous  but  hapless  Mary.  I  stepped 
into  her  bedchamber,  which  was  a  mere  cabinet  not  over 
twenty  feet  square,  I  should  judge,  in  which  stood  the  bed 
that  had  been  once  occupied  by  the  beautiful  queen  and  in 
which  she  lay  pregnant  with  her  son,  who  afterward  became 
James  VI  of  England  and  Scotland. 

The  bed  was  roped  in  to  keep  visitors  away,  and  over 
it  hung  a  royal  canopy.  It  was  about  the  year  15GO  when 
Mary  slept  in  this  bed — over  350  years  ago — and  the  quilts 
and  coverlets  are  still  there,  but  they  are  in  such  a  sad  state 
that  a  touch  would  make  them  crumble.  A  ragman  would 
not  give  five  cents  for  bed  and  all,  for  everything  is  about 
ready  to  fall  to  pieces.  There  is  some  furniture  in  the  room, 
a  mantel  shelf,  a  picture  hanging  above  the  mantel,  and  a 
few  toilet  articles. 

Connecting  with  this  bedroom  is  a  secret  stairway  which 
leads  up  to  the  room  that  was  once  occupied  by  Rizzio.  I 
ascended  this  stairway  and  noted  how  easy  it  was  for  Rizzio 
to  visit  Mary  when  he  or  she  were  so  inclined. 

James  VI  was  not  born  in  this  room  but  was  born  three 
months  afterward  in  Edinboro  Castle  in  a  room  that  I  have 
previously  alluded  to. 

Poor,  loving,  witching,  erratic,  beautiful  Mary  has  thrown 
a  halo  of  romance  over  Holyrood  Palace  which  will  cling  to 
it  always,  as  long  as  the  structure  lasts. 

Those  who  have  read  history  have  read  of  the  Eliza- 
bethan era  in  England,  and  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  the  virgin 
queen,  who  was  queen  first  and  woman  afterward.  The  re- 
verse was  the  case  with  Mary,  for  Mary  was  the  woman  first 
and  queen  afterward. 

What  a  brilliant  court  was  that  of  Elizabeth!  Its  influ- 
ence has  extended  to  the  present  era,  for  do  we  not  build 
houses  in  the  Elizabethan  style  and  have  we  npt  adopted 
customs  of  the  Elizabethan  period?  Hers  was  a  long  and 
brilliant  reign.  Elizabeth  surrounded  herself  with  men  of 


232 

great  ability,  such  as  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  (the  Knight  of  the 
Cloak),  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  the  Earl  of  Sussex  and  others, 
whose  fame  will  always  live  in  history  and  story.  Elizabeth 
was  jealous  of  Mary  because  Mary  was  so  much  more  beauti- 
ful than  she,  though  Elizabeth  herself  was  pretty  and  attrac- 
tive enough  and  accomplished  in  many  ways.  She  was  not 
as  tall  as  Mary,  had  golden  hair  (some  people  called  it  red), 
an  alabaster-like  complexion,  pretty  features  but  rather  large 
feet  and  hands.  She  was  nine  years  older  than  Mary  and  was 
a  Protestant,  whilst  Mary  was  a  Catholic.  Elizabeth  had 
more  solidity  of  judgment  than  Mary,  and  was  well  versed 
in  politics,  philosophy,  history,  rhetoric,  poetry  and  music. 
Besides,  English,  her  mother  tongue,  she  spoke  and  wrote 
to  perfection  Greek,  Latin,  French,  Italian  and  Spanish. 
.Mary  was  hardly  less  accomplished  and  her  beauty  threw 
a  spell  over  everyone  who  approached  her;  the  latter,  Eliza- 
beth could  not  forgive,  and  this,  coupled  with  the  fact  that 
Mary  was  of  a  different  faith,  finally  led  to  Mary's  undoing-. 
She  was  beheaded. 

Edinboro  is  the  seat  of  learning,  art  and  music  in  Scot- 
land. It  contains  many  schools  and  colleges,  music  and 
book  publishing  houses,  and  almost  everyone  in  Edinboro 
is  learned  and  refined.  English  is  spoken  there  with  a  charm- 
ing Scottish  accent.  In  Edinboro  dwelt  the  chaps  who  had  the 
hardihood  to  criticise  Lord  Byron's  works  adversely  and  got 
into  hot  water  for  so  doing.  They  were  heavily  dealt  with  in 
"English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers;"  and  have  been  ren- 
dered famous  or  infamous  forever. 

Edinboro  is  called  the  Athens  of  the  North,  and  justly 
so,  for  it  is  laid  out  on  classical  lines.  Its  public  streets, 
squares  and  some  of  its  public  buildings  off  Princes  street, 
are  in  the  Athenian  style  and  set  off  the  city  handsomely. 

I  like  the  old  part  of  town  as  a  foil  to  the  new  part,  but 
the  old  part  seemed  the  more  interesting  to  me.  However, 
in  this  charming  city  the  ancient  and  the  modern  are  so 
happily  blended  as  to  render  it  one  of  the  handsomest  and 


233 

most  interesting  cities  on  the  face  of  the  globe.     I  have  seen 
no  city  that  I  like  better  and  I  have  seen  many. 

As  a  business  place  Edinboro  does  not  Amount  to  much, 
speaking  in  a  comparative  sense,  but  it  contains  a  multitude 
of  stores  and  business  establishments,  as  so  large  a  city  natu- 
rally would;  and  it  has  quite  a  busy  harbor  at  Leith,  about  a 
mile  distant  from  the  main  part  of  the  city,  which  is  called 
"Leith  Harbor."  Leith  at  one  time  was  a  village  on  the  out- 
skirts of  Edinboro  as  were  Portobello  and  other  places,  but 
Edinboro  has  absorbed  them,  and  now  they  are  an  integral 
part  of  this  fair  city. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 
I  SEEK  WORK  IN   EDINBORO. 

I  put  in  a  whole  day  of  sightseeing  and  then  wandered 
toward  my  home  on  Spittal  street.  Wonder  who  gave  that 
street  its  beautiful  name?  It  struck  me  as  being  a  homely 
one  and  yet  it  is  not  so  bad,  for  there  is  antiquity  back  of  it. 
Some  of  the  other  streets  in  Edinboro  are  named  thus:  Queen 
street,  Inverleith  Row,  York  Street,  Chambers  street,  Castle 
Terrace,  The  Vennel,  Greyfriars,  Waterloo  Place,  Leith  Walk, 
BruntsHeld  street,  George  IV  Bridge  street,  Teviot  Place, 
Calton  Hill,  Lothian  Road,  Palmerston  Place,  Castle  street, 
Princes  street,  etc.  Some  of  the  districts  and  suburban  places 
are  named  Liberton,  Glencorse,  Gilmerton,  West  Calder, 
Loanhead,  Penicuik,  Eskbank,  Costorphine,  Uphill,  Joppa, 
Portobello,  Musselburgh,  Levenhall,  etc. 

After  bumming  around  Edinboro  a  few  days  and  taking 
in  by  tramcar  some  of  the  suburbs,  such  as  Leith  Harbor, 
Portobello,  Joppa,  Musselburgh,  etc.,  my  money  began  to  give 
out  and  I  concluded  I  would  have  to  go  to  work.  My  heart 
sank  at  the  idea,  for  I  suspected  that  now  my  troubles  would 
begin.  I  knew  nothing  of  the  country,  its  ways  or  customs; 
I  did  not  understand  the  money  values,  nor  the  business 


234 

methods,  or  how  things  were  done  to  earn  money;  and  I  was 
shaking  in  my  boots.  But  with  me  the  anticipation  is  usu- 
ally worse  than  the  reality;  for  when  I  do  go  at  a  thing,  it 
is  with  the  determination  to  succeed,  to  sink  or  swim,  sur- 
vive or  perish.  I  must  succeed  and  I  shall,  somehow.  I  will 
do  anything  at  all  to  earn  an  honest  livlihood. 

Accordingly,  I  went  forth  in  search  of  work  at  about 
eight  o'clock  one  fine  autumn  day  after  I  had  been  in  Edin- 
boro  about  a  week,  and  concluded  to  try  some  of  the  swell 
stores  along  Princes  street,  the  Broadway  of  Edinboro.  The 
first  place  I  went  into  was  the  very  fine  establishment  of  Sir 
Thomas  Lipton  where  the  choicest  of  groceries  and  provisions 
were  sold,  including  delicacies.  In  the  elegant  show  windows 
were  displayed  great  pasties  of  meat  and  other  things,  fine 
hams,  bacons,  cheese,  high  class  teas,  coffees,  etc  When  I 
was  directed  to  the  manager  he  listened  to  my  accent  with 
a  smile  and  assured  me  that  he  had  all  the  help  he  needed. 
I  got  the  same  answer  in  a  swell  hotel  farther  along  on  that 
street.  I  noticed  a  high-toned  shoe  store  on  Princes  street, 
not  far  from  this  hotel,  which  had  a  large  sign  over  it,  ''Amer- 
ican Shoe  Store."  Well,  if  these  chaps  are  Americans  they 
will  give  a  countryman  a  lift,  sure,  thinks  I;  so  into  the  store 
I  went. 

A  gentleman  stepped  up  to  me  and  asked  me  what  my 
wishes  would  be,  for  he  thought  I  came  in  to  purchase.  I 
informed  him  that  I  was  an  American  and  that  the  sign  over 
the  door  had  impelled  me  to  go  in.  I  added  that  I  was  in 
search  of  work.  "Is  this  an  American  establishment?"  asked 
I;  I  notice  that  the  sign  over  the  door  says,  "  'American 
Shoe  Store'." 

"No,"  replied  he,  "this  shop  is  the  branch  of  a  London 
establishment,  but  we  make  a  specialty  of  selling  American- 
made  shoes." 

I  wondered  at  this.  The  gentleman  casually  hinted  that 
no  help  was  required.  I  went  out  much  disappointed  for  I 
had  expected  to  run  up  against  countrymen. 


235 

I  walked  as  far  as  Waterloo  Place,  which  is  the  end  of 
Princes  street,  and  then  turned  down  Leith  Walk,  a  very  busy 
thoroughfare,  something  like  Eighth  avenue  in  New  York. 
It  was  lined  along  its  whole  length,  a  mile  or  two,  on  botn 
sides,  with  stores  of  all  kinds,  and  nice  ones,  too. 

The  British  people  call  their  stores,  shops.  In  some 
cases  that  appellation  is  better  than  the  American  one,  but 
in  other  cases  the  American  designation  is  better,  I  think. 
Our  dear  British  cousins  think  they  are  wiser  than  Amer- 
icans but  Americans  can  give  them  a  few  pointers  for  a'  that. 

I  stepped  into  one  or  two  stores  in  Leith  Walk  and  asked 
for  a  position  of  some  kind  but  was  refused,  politely  and 
regretfully.  I  tried  a  bookbinding  and  printing  establishment 
with  the  same  result.  I  then  walked  down  nearly  the  full 
length  of  Leith  Walk  and  tried  my  luck  in  a  coal  and  wood 
yard,  but  there  was  nothing  doing.  I  was  getting  discouraged 
by  this  time  and  concluded  to  look  no  more  for  work  that 
day.  I-nstead,  I  went  down  to  Leith  Harbor  which  was  close 
by  and  viewed  the  basins  and  shipping.  There  were  a  great 
many  ships  of  all  nationalities  in  the  harbor. 

The  next  day  I  continued  my  search  for  the  privilege  to 
toil.  Many  a  place  did  I  go  into  and  in  all  of  them  I  was 
turned  down.  I  was  given  to  understand  in  some  places  I 
stepped  into  that  the  Native  Sons  and  Daughters  had  the 
call.  They  had  no  use  for  an  "Incomer."  "Leal  to  the 
Borders,"  was  their  slogan.  Would  I  give  up?  Not  1.  I  had 
to  have  work  and  I  was  going  to  get  it,  too,  somehow  and 
somewhere.  It  was  a  case  of  "needcessity,"  I  was  broke. 

In  one  street  I  noticed  a  sign,  "American  Dentist."  The 
sign  was  at  the  gateway  of  a  neat  looking  house.  The  word 
"American"  made  me  cock  up  my  ears  at  once.  I  stepped  up 
to  the  door  and  rang  the  bell.  A  servant  came  to  the  door 
and  asked  me  whom  I  wished  to  see.  "Is  the  dentist  in?' 
enquired  I.  She  hestiated,  then  replied,  "I'll  go  and  see." 

She  went  in  and  in  about  five  minutes  she  returned.  I 
suspected  that  she  had  sized  me  up  and  had  described  me  to 
her  master. 


236 

''Will  you  be  pleased  to  step  inside?"  enquired  she.  I 
did  so,  but  did  not  like  her  manner  of  procedure.  I  smelt  a 
rat.  I  was  ushered  into  a  parlor  and  after  a  few  moments 
the  dentist  appeared. 

He  was  a  middle  aged  man,  rather  short  and  stout.  After 
greetings  were  over  I  informed  him  what  had  brought  me  in. 
I  said  that  I  was  an  American  and  that  his  sign,  ''American 
Dentist"  had  attracted  me.  I  asked  him  if  he  was  an  Amer- 
ican. He  told  me  that  he  was  not  but  that  he  had  studied 
dentistry  in  America.  I  wondered  at  this,  but  I  learned  after- 
wards that  the  American  art  of  dentistry,  is  considered  even 
by  Europeans,  to  be  about  the  best  there  is  going,  so  that  a 
foreigner  with  an  American  diploma  is  looked  on  with  favor 
in  his  country. 

After  foreign  students  have  studied  in  America  and 
receive  their  diplomas,  they  believe  they  have  the  right  to 
call  themselves  "American  Dentists."  This  American  den- 
tist had  no  work  for  me  so  I  bade  him  adieu. 

To  make  a  long  story  short  I  will  say  that  two  or  three 
days  later,  after  trying  in  vain  to  find  something  to  do,  I  was 
walking  along  rather  dejectedly  in  a  populous  thoroughfare 
off  the  Lothian  Road,  when  I  stopped  in  front  of  an  art 
store  to  admire  some  pretty  paintings  in  the  window.  I  looked 
into  the  store  and  observed  that  there  was  no  one  inside 
except  the  proprietor  himself.  With  a  desperate  sort  of 
feeling  I  concluded  to  go  in  and  strike  him  for  a  job.  In  I 
went  and  stated  my  errand. 

The  proprietor's  name  was  Milne  and  not  only  did  he 
sell  artist  materials  and  paintings,  but  he  was  an  artist  him- 
self and  a  well  known  one  at  that.  This  I  learned  afterward. 
He  was  a  handsome  man,  tall  and  slim,  with  a  well  shaped 
dark  moustache,  dreamy  and  soulful  eyes,  a  well  bred  manner 
and  a  delightful  way  of  speaking.  He  was  a  gentleman,  born 
and  bred,  I  could  see. 

I  had  quite  a  chat  with  him.  I  told  him  that  I  was  an 
American  and  that  I  came  to  Scotland  to  gather  notes  and 
that  it  was  my  intention  to  "print  them";  but,  I  was  out  of 


237 

funds  at  present  and  needed  work  sadly.  Without  hesitation 
he  offered  me  a  position  then  and  there,  from  a  feeling  of 
charity  I  have  no  doubt. 

He  told.me  that  he  had  a  den  at  the  back  of  his  shop 
where  he  painted  pictures,  and  that  it  was  not  handy  for  him 
to  paint  and  wait  on  customers,  always.  He  asked  me  if  I 
were  willing  to  wait  on  customers.  Of  course  I  said  "yes." 
He  said  he  would  mark  the  goods  with  prices,  so  that  I  would 
have  no  trouble  in  selling  them,  and  he  requested  me  to  call 
him  into  the  store  whenever  I  deemed  it  necessary.  He  offered 
me  one  pound  ten  per  week,  ($7.50)  which  was  a  very  hand- 
some salary — for  Edinboro. 

Did  I  accept  the  offer?  Don't  ask  me  such  a  foolish  ques- 
tion. I  jumped  at  it.  I  was  saved;  saved!  Hooray! 

I  held  the  job  down  all  winter  and  saved  every  penny 
that  I  could,  for  it  was  my  intention  to  continue  ray  travels 
the  following  spring.  '  I  informed  Mr.  Milne  of  my  intentions 
and  he  was  pleased  to  learn  of  them.  He  and  I  had  many  a 
talk  on  art,  literature,  poetry  and  kindred  subjects  for  he  had 
the  artistic  temperament  in  a  high  degree  and  was  a  painter 
of  no  mean  ability,  as  I  said  before.  He  was  good  at  land- 
scapes and  portrait  painting,  but  one  or  two  of  his  imagina- 
tive paintings  I  did  not  admire,  for  they  did  not  seem  to  me 
to  be  natural.  I  believe  fidelity  to  nature  ought  to  be  the 
rule. 

However,  no  one  can  be  perfect.  I  said  to  Mr.  Milne  one 
day,  that  I  thought  the  arts  were  like  the  fingers  on  one's  hand, 
that  they  are  allied,  and  that  a  liking  for  one  generally  means 
a  liking  more  or  less,  for  them  all,  and  he  agreed  with  me.  He 
gave  me  a  great  deal  of  information  of  the  true  inwardness  of 
Edinboro,  and  I,  in  return  answered  all  the  questions  he  put  to 
me  to  the  best  of  my  ability  concerning  the  "States1'  and  other 
matters.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  me  to  be  the  intimate  of  such  a 
gentleman  as  Mr.  Milne. 

The  weather  in  Edinboro  during  the  winter  was  quite 
severe  (as  it  is  everywhere  else  for  that  matter  during  that 
season  of  the  year)  and  the  "Northeasters"  that  swept  in 


238 

from  the  Atlantic  Ocean  were  fierce.  They  went  right 
through  a  fellow  and  almost  froze  the  marrow  in  one's  bones. 
Whew,  they  were  icy  cold! 

There  were  many  days,  too,  that  the  people  of  Edinboro 
call  "Grey  Days,"  that  is,  when  the  skies  were  gloomy  and 
the  sun  failed  to  shine.  On  such  days  Edinboro  Castle  seems 
most  engaging  and  romantic.  The  Castle  can  be  seen  from 
almost  any  part  of  Edinboro  as  it  looms  up  against  the 
lowering  skies  like  a  fine  old  picture.  At  night,  when  the 
many  gas  jets  are^lit  along  the  Castle  esplanade  and  in  the 
barrack  rooms,  the  castle  seems  like  a  mysterious  world  far 
above  the  earth.  The  castle  fascinates  the  stranger  at  all 
times,  but  the  native  sons  and  daughters  don't  think  much 
of  it,  for  they  have  been  used  to  seeing  it  all  their  lives.  In 
such  a  case  familiarity  breeds  contempt. 

While  working  in  the  art  store  I  continued  to  lodge  with 
the  Camerons  on  Spittal  street,  and  put  in  many  a  happy 
evening  with  them.  The  married  daughter,  Violet,  visited 
her  folks  almost  every  night  and  favored  us  with  music.  Her 
taste  was  consummate  and  her  skill  profound.  Her  music, 
like  Bobbie  Burns'  poetry,  came  from  the  heart  and  went  to 
the  heart.  In  fact,  it  was  more  heart  than  art.  It  pleased 
me  well  to  know  (I  have  a  soul  for  music  myself)  that  Mis- 
tress Violet  liked  several  touching  and  soulful  American 
songs,  such  as,  "Way  down  upon  the  Suwanee  River,"  "Love 
Me  and  the  World  is  Mine,"  "Massa's  in  the  Cold,  Cold 
Ground,"  etc.  Her  touch  made  the  strings  of  one's  heart 
vibrate  and  brought  tears  to  the  eyes. 

I  was  surrounded  by  music,  by  art,  history  and  romance 
in  Edinboro  and  I  was  happy,  happy,  happy!  Shall  I  ever  be 
as  happy  again? 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 
SIR   WALTER   SCOTT. 

I  cannot  bid  Edinboro  farewell  without  saying  a  little 
more  about  Sir  Walter  Scott,  for  this  great  artist  spent  his 
boyhood  and  youth  in  the  fair  city,  and  his  memory  pervades 
the  place  and  seems  to  hover  in  its  atmosphere.  With  Burns, 
he  shares  the  love,  admiration  and  reverence  of  a'l  Scottish 
people,  and  of  other  people  as  well.  Some  like  Burns  best, 
whilst  others  like  Scott,  but  to  me  it  seems  like  trying  to 
choose  between  two  good  apples  of  different  species — each 
has  a  flavor  of  its  own. 

Burns  died  before  he  had  attained  his  thirty-eighth  year, 
but  Scott  lived  to  be  sixty  and  had  a  longer  period  in  which 
to  perfect  himself. 

As  a  writer  of  historical  romance,  no  writer  has  ever 
approached  Sir  Walter  Scott,  except,  possibly,  Alexander 
Dumas,  the  elder.  I  think  Sir  Walter  Scott  was  a  master,  not 
only  in  prose  writing,  but  in  verse  as  well.  His  art  was  con- 
summate and  his  genius  great. 

He  peopled  the  Silent  Centuries,  that  is  to  say,  he  threw 
upon  the  screen  and  placed  vividly  before  us,  people  who  had 
lived  in  the  centuries  gone  by.  He  portrayed  the  barbaric 
ages,  the  middle  ages  and  his  contemporary  age,  and  he  has 
revealed  to  all  future  ages  the  manners  and  customs  of  the 
past. 

He  has  held  up  to  us  as  in  a  mirror  the  personality  of 
kings,  queens  and  courtiers,  and  of  people  in  all  the  various 
walks  of  life.  He  makes  these  people  speak  as  naturally  as 
they  would  talk  were  they  alive;  he  shows  us  how  they 
dressed,  ate,  sang,  loved,  hated,  intrigued  and  moved  about 
on  the  stage  of  life.  Thus  he  portrayed  Saxon  and  German, 


240 

English  and  Scotch  subjects,  faithfully  and  truly.  His  mind, 
like  that  of  Dumas,  was  a  library  of  history,  and  he  was  a 
great  scholar.  That  his  mind  was  of  a  legal  cast  was  plainly 
to  be  seen,  yet  he  excelled  in  every  thing  he  undertook. 

There  is  no  writer  living  today  who  can  place  a  king 
before  us  as  he  was,  though  many  writers  have  tried  to  and 
are  trying  today.  It  is  a  difficult  task.  It  requires  a  master- 
hand  to  do  it;  a  collosal,  an  extraordinary  genius.  There 
have  been  imitators  of  such  men  as  Scott,  but  sad  to  relate 
such  masters  are  not  born  every  century.  For  some  occult 
reason  the  Creator  does  not  put  such  men  on  the  earth  every 
day. 

Men  like  Scott,  lead;  others  follow.  Masters  like  Scott, 
are  original,  they  have  the  gift  to  judge  aright,  and  of  seeing 
things  as  they  are  or  were.  To  illustrate: 

Have. you  read  "Kenilworth,"  by  Sir  Walter  Scott?  Sir 
Walter  was  Scottish,  yet  he  portrays  English  people  to  the 
life.  He  portrayed  Queen  Elizabeth  and  her  Court  in  this 
novel  in  a  manner  to  put  all  the  personages  before  you  just 
as  they  were.  Thus  he  throws  the  Earl  of  Leicester  on  the 
screen  vividly;  Amy  Robsart,  Varney  the  tool  of  Leicester, 
the  father  of  Amy,  the  Earl  of  Sussex  and  many  other  noble- 
men, including  "The  Knight  of  the  Cloak"  (Sir  Walter 
Raleigh) ;  and  a  host  of  other  characters.  As  we  read  we 
can  see  and  understand  their  ways  and  habit  of  thought. 
They  are  made  to  move,  act  and  speak  as  if  they  were  alive. 
Not  only  did  Sir  Walter  create  all  his  characters,  but  he 
created  also  a  style  of  art  of  his  own  which  was  successful, 
because  it  was  simple,  direct  and  appealed  to  the  people.  It 
won  success  for  him,  and  success  always  brings  imitators, 
but.  the  imitator  is  not  usually  equal  to  the  master.  This 
truism  applies  not  only  to  literature  but  to  music,  the  drama, 
the  arts,  the  sciences,  commercial  affairs  and  all  the  various 
pursuits  in  life.  Genius  leads;  ability  follows. 

A  critic,  who  may  or  may  not  be  discriminating,  had  this 
to  say:of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  poetry: 


241 

"The  distinctive  features  of  the  poetry  of  Scott  are  ease, 
rapidity  of  movement,  a  spirited  flow  of  narrative  that  holds 
our  attention,  an  out-of-door  atmosphere  and  power  of  natural 
description,  an  occasional  intrusion  of  a  gentle  personal  sad- 
ness and  but  little  more.  The  subtle  and  mystic  element  so 
characteristic  of  the  poetry  of  Wordsworth  and  Coleridge  is 
not  to  be  found  in  Scott,  while  in  lyrical  power  he  does  not 
approach  Shelley.  (As  I  have  not  read  or  studied  Sir  Walter 
Scott's  poetry  much,  I  cannot  vouch  for  the  latter  statement 
as  being  true. — Windy  Bill).  We  find  instead  an  intense  sense 
of  reality  in  all  his  natural  descriptions;  it  surrounds  them 
with  an  indefinable  atmosphere,  because  they  are  so  trans- 
parently true.  (That  seems  like  truth  to  me,  for  Scott,  like 
all  great  artists,  was  true  to  nature. — Windy  Bill.) 

''Scott's  first  impulse  in  the  direction  of  poetry  was  given 
to  him  from  the  study  of  the  German  ballads,  especially  Bur- 
ger's Lenore,  of  which  he  made  a  translation.  As  his  ideas 
widened,  he  wished  to  do  for  Scottish  Border  life  what  Goethe 
had  done  for  the  ancient  feudalism  of  the  Rhine.  He  was 
at  first  undecided  whether  to  choose  prose  or  verse  as  the 
medium;  but  a  legend  was  sent  him  by  the  Countess  of  Dal- 
keith  with  a  request  that  he  would  put  it  in  ballad  form. 
Having  thus  the  framework  of  his  purpose,  he  went  to  work, 
and  'The  Lay  of  the  Last  Ministrel'  was  the  result.  The 
battle  scene  in  Marmion  has  been  called  the  most  Homeric 
passage  in  modern  literature,  and  his  description  of  the  battle 
of  Beal  au  Duine  from  'The  Lady  of  the  Lake'  is  an  exquisite 
piece  of  narration  from  the  gleam  of  the  spears  in  the 
thicket  to  the  death  of  Roderick  Dhu  at  its  close.  In  the 
deepest  sense  Scott  is  one  with  the  spirit  of  his  time  in  his 
grasp  of  fact,  in  that  steadily  looking  at  the  object  which 
Wordsworth  had  fought  for  in  poetry,  which  Carlyle  had 
advocated  in  philosophy.  (Why,  sure,  Scott  grasped  fact; 
had  he  not  done  so  he  would  not  have  been  the  artist  he  was; 
fact  is  stranger  than  fiction. — Windy  Bill).  He  is  allied,  too, 
to  that  broad  sympathy  for  man  which  lay  closest  to  the  heart 
of  the  age's  literary  expression.  Wordsworth's  part  is  to 


242 

inspire  an  interest  in  the  lives  of  men  and  women  about  us; 
Scott's  to  enlarge  our  sympathy  beyond  the  bounds  of  the 
present,  and  to  people  the  silent  centuries.  Shelley's  inspira- 
tion is  hope  for  the  future;  Scott's  is  reverence  for  the  past." 

Sir  Walter  was  a  man  who  was  well  liked  and  his  friends 
were  numerous.  He  married,  had  a  family  and  Kept  open 
house  in  Edinboro,  at  Ashestiel  and  at  Abbotsford,  where  he 
resided  successively.  Among  his  friends — the  whole  world 
admired  him — was  George  Tichnor,  the  author,  who  declared 
that  Scott  repeated  to  him  the  English  translations  of  two 
long  Spanish  ballads  which  he  had  never  seen,  but  which  had 
been  read  to  him  twice. . 

John  Irving,  a  college  friend  of  Sir  Walter's  writing  of 
himself  and  Scott,  said:  "The  number  of  books  we  thus 
devoured  was  very  great.  I  forgot  a  great  part  of  what  I 
read;  but  my  friend,  notwithstanding  he  read  with  suc-i 
rapidity,  remained,  to  my  surprise,  master  of  it  all,  and 
could  even,  weeks  and  months  afterwards,  repeat  a  whole 
page  in  which  anything  had  particularly  struck  him  at  the 
moment." 

Our  own  countryman,  Washington  Irving,  who  was  a 
contemporary  of  Sir  Walter,  enjoyed  the  hospitality  of  Sir 
Walter's  home  and  they  became  friends.  Irving,  among  other 
things,  had  this  to  say  about  Scott  and  his  visit:  "During 
the  time  of  my  visit  he  inclined  to  the  comic  rather  than  to 
the  grave  in  his  anecdotes  and  stories;  and  such,  I  was  told, 
was  his  general  inclination.  He  relished  a  joke  or  a  trait  of 
humor  in  social  intercourse,  and  laughed  with  right  good 
will.  .  .  .  His  humor  in  conversation  as  in  his  works,  was 
genial  and  free  from  causticity.  He  had  a  quick  perception 
of  faults  and  foibles,  but  he  looked  upon  human  nature  with 
an  indulgent  eye,  relishing  what  was  good  and  pleasant,  tol- 
erating what  was  frail  and  pitying  what  was  evil I  do 

not  recollect  a  sneer  throughout  his  conversation,  any  more 
than  there  is  throughout  his  works." 

Our  countryman,  our  own  Washy,  had  written  some  good 
books  himself,  but  the  American  people  held  him  lightly  and 


243 

did  not  think  much  of  his  work.  Like  some  of  our  critics 
of  today  they  thought  that  "The  American  Novel,"  had  not 
yet  been  written  and  that  no  American  author  was  capable  o° 
achieving  great  results.  Sir  Walter  Scott  undeceived  these 
people.  His  great  genius  could  fathom  the  great  genius  of 
our  countryman,  so  he  became  a  sponsor  for  Washington 
Irving  and  told  the  world  it  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  itself 
not  to  recognize  merit  of  so  high  an  order,  whereupon  the 
world  began  to  think  there  was  something  in  Irving  after  all. 

I  say  to  you,  my  countrymen,  that  Washington  Irving 
was  the  peer  of  any  writer  who  ever  lived,  barring  no  one, 
for  "grasp  of  fact,'  truth,  realism  was  his  theme,  and,  like 
Sir  Walter  Scott,  he  clothed  his  ideas  in  an  original  garb  of 
his  own.  Irving  was  a  great  artist  as  well  as  a  profound 
genius.  No  wonder  Sir  Walter  Scott  thought  it  a  shame  that 
such  worth  should  not  be  recognized. 

Irving  is  coming  into  his  own,  though,  for  as  time  rolls  on, 
he  is  becoming  more  and  more  popular. 

Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  Lord  Byron  so  lampooned 
Sir  Walter  Scott  in  his  "English  Bards  and  Scotch  Review- 
ers," Sir  Walter  Scott  was  too  noble  to  bear  malice  and  the 
two  became  friends.  Byron  visited  Sir  Walter  and  afterward 
wrote  the  following:  "I  think  that  Scott  is  the  only  very  suc- 
cessful genius  that  could  be  cited  as  being  as  generally  be- 
loved as  a  man  as  he  is  admired  as  an  author;  and  I  must 
add,  he  deserves  it,  for  he  is  so  thoroughly  good  natured, 
sincere  and  honest  that  he  disarms  the  envy  and  jealousy 
his  extraordinary  genius  must  excite." 

Byron  says  that  Scott's  genius  was  "extraordinary/  and 
it  was  so.  Byron  was  a  judge,  and  praise  from  Sir  Hubert  is 
praise  indeed. 

Leslie  Stephen,  another  friend  of  Sir  Walter,  said  this 
of  him:  "Scott  could  never  see  an  old  tower,  or  a  bank,  or 
a  rush  of  a  stream  without  instantly  recalling  a  boundless 
collection  of  appropriate  anecdotes.  He  might  be  quoted  as 
a  case  in  point  by  those  who  would  explain  all  poetical  imagi- 


244 

nation  by  the  power  of  associating  ideas.  He  is  the  'Poet  of 
Association'." 

Lockhart  married  the  daughter  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  and 
wrote  a  voluminous  biography  of  his  great  father-in-law,  but, 
as  a  rule,  I  don't  much  fancy  biographies  written  by  relatives, 
although  Lockhart's  was  a  painstaking  one.  Such  biographies 
are  not  usually  impartial.  I  will  quote  the  following  from 
Lockhart's  biography  of  Scott: 

"The  love  of  his  (Sir  Walter's)  country  became  muted  a 
passion;  no  knight  ever  tilted  for  his  mistress  more  willingly 
than  he  would  have  bled  and  died  to  preserve  even  the  airiest 
surviving  nothing  of  her  antique  pretensions  for  Scotland. 
But  the  Scotland  of  his  affections  had  the  clan  "Scott"  for 
her  kernal." 

I  don't  believe  any  such  thing.  I  do  not  believe  Scott 
was  so  narrow  minded  as  that.  I  know  that  he  took  a  great 
pride  in  his  ancestry  but  he  loved  Scotland  with  a  devotion 
and  loyalty  that  never  faltered.  Not  only  did  his  writings 
ennoble  Scotland,  but  Sir  Walter  proved  his  love  for  his 
country  in  other  ways,  as  every  intelligent  Scot  knows.  For 
instance,  he  had  old  Mons  Meg  restored  to  Scotland,  and  that 
was  only  one  proof  of  his  affection  for  his  native  land.  There 
are  other  things  he  did  which  I  could  cite  but  need  not  do  so. 

Thomas  Carlyle,  the  philosopher,  was  a  warm  i'riend  and 
admirer  of  Sir  Walter  Scott.  Carlyle  was  a  clever  and  pain- 
staking author,  the  writer  of  a  careful  and  excellent  history 
of  the  French  Revolution,  and  of  other  works  of  merit,  such 
as,  "Sartor  Resartos,"  and  he  gave  Sir  Walter  a  quaint  cer- 
tificate of  character  which  I  shall  quote. 

"The  surliest  critic  must  allow  that  Scott  was  a  genuine 
man,  which  in  itself  is  a  great  matter.  No  affectation,  fan- 
tasicality  or  distortion  dwelt  in  him;  no  shadow  of  cant.  Nay, 
withal,  was  he  not  a  right  brave  and  strong  man  according 
to  his  kind?  What  a  load  of  toil,  what  a  measure  of  felicity 
he  quietly  bore  along  with  him.  With  what  quiet  strength  he 
both  worked  on  this  earth  and  enjoyed  in  it,  invincible  to  evil 
fortune  and  to  good." 


.    245 

Robert  Burns  came  to  Edinboro  on  a  visit  when  Sir 
Walter  was  only  fifteen  years  of  age,  but  Sir  Walter's  admira- 
tion for  the  National  Bard  was  great  and  became  greater  as 
time  rolled  on,  when  he  understood  Burns'  writings  better. 
He  wrote  much  concerning  Burns,  mostly  magazine  articles, 
but  I  believe  he  also  wrote  a  biography.  Of  this,  I  am  rot 
sure.  I  believe  some  articles  written  by  Scott  for  the  Quar- 
terly Review  were  afterward  put  in  book  form. 

James  Ballentyne,  who  printed  Sir  Walter's  books,  be- 
came a  friend  of  Sir  Walter  and  a  partner,  afterward,  in  the 
publishing  business.  The  partnership  turned  out  disastrous. 

Thomas  Campbell,  author  of  "The  Pleasures  of  Hope," 
was  a  warm  friend  of  Sir  Walter's;  and  so  was  William 
Wordsworth,  the  poet.  Robert  Southey,  the  poet,  visited  Sir 
Walter  at  Ashestiel  and  was  heartily  welcomed.  Joanna 
Baillie,  the  poetess,  was  much  admired  by  Sir  Walter;  and 
so  was  Sir  Humphrey  Davy,  the  philosopher,  who  often  visited 
Sir  Walter. 

Sir  Walter  was  a  warm  friend  and  admirer  of  the  great 
German  poet,  Goethe.  A  greater  poet  than  Goethe  never 
lived,  and  I  do  believe  that  he  inspired  more  Avriters  than  any 
other  great  master  who  ever  lived.  '  The  English  speaking 
races  have  produced  no  greater  poet  than  he. 

But  why  continue  this  recital  of  Sir  Walter's  merits, 
his  doings,  sayings,  and  his  friends?  He  was  a  Scot,  yet 
a  master  in  English  historical  novel  writing.  The  clever 
critic  whose  criticism  of  Sir  Walter's  poetry  I  reproduced  m 
this  chapter  mentioned  one  passage  in  Sir  Walter's  poem, 
the  Marmion  battle  scene,  as  being  "the  most  Homeric  in 
modern  literature."  Why,  Homer  was  not  in  it  with  Scott. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 
STIRLING  CASTLE. 

It  was  spring  time  once  more  when  the  blood  begins  to 
turn  rosy  red,  when  the  mind  lightly  turns  to  thoughts  of  love 
and  when  warmed-up  nature  begins  to  put  on  her  newest  and 
freshest  dress. 

On  a  fine  morning  at  this  season  I  bade  my  Edinboro 
friends  a  reluctant  adieu  and  took  the  choo-choo  cars  for  the 
city  of  Stirling,  which  is  about  an  hour's  ride  by  rail  from 
Edinboro  and  about  half  an  hour's  ride  from  Glasgow.  Stir- 
ling is  about  thirty  miles  from  Glasgow  and  about  fifty  miles 
from  Edinboro. 

I  bought  a  third  class  ticket  from  Edinboro  to  Stirling 
and  enjoyed  the  railroad  ride,  sitting  on  cushions,  very  much. 
It  beat  riding  the  rods  .or  brakebeam  a  whole  lot.  When  I 
arrived  in  Stirling  I  felt  new  and  strange  for  a  few  moments 
but  I  soon  got  my  bearings. 

Stirling  is  a  charming  little  city  containing  20,000  inhabi- 
tants and  is  situated  in  a  pretty  valley  surrounded  by  moun- 
tains. It  is  a  tourist  town,  for  it  contains  Stirling  Castle, 
and  is  situated  about  a  mile  or  so  from  the  field  of  Bannock- 
burn,  where  a  great  battle  was  fought  several  centuries  ago. 
Coal  mines  in  the  vicinity  contribute  to  its  support  and  render 
it  a  distribution  point.  There  are  a  multitude  of  stores  in 
the-  place,  a  covered  shopping  arcade  where  people  can  shoo 
in  all  weathers,  a  maze  of  winding  streets,  courts,  wynds  and 
alleys,  and  it  bears  a  medieval  aspect.  In  its  delightful  sub- 
urbs nestle  a  number  of  pretty  and  secluded  villas  embowered 
in  spacious  domains.  The  whole  place  is  a  study  in  the 
Antique  and  Beautiful. 


247 

I  leisurely  walked  through  the  little  city,  viewing  the 
arcades  and  the  well  stocked  shops  in  which  there  were  a 
large  variety  of  goods.  The  storekeepers  could  tell  that  I 
was  a  stranger  as  soon  as  they  clapt  eyes  on  me,  and  probably 
they  wondered  if  I  were  going  to  buy  anything.  For  strangers, 
there  were  view  postcards  in  the  shops,  souvenir  books,  canes, 
shawls  and  many  other  pretty  articles,  but  as  it  was  my  in- 
tention to  remain  in  Stirling  a  week,  I  did  not  care  to  buy  any- 
thing just  then.  Instead,  I  did  the  town  thoroughly  and  then 
went  on  a  still  hunt  for  a  furnished  room.  I  inq  aired  the 
price  for  room  and  board  in  an  old  fashioned  hotel  and  the 
landlord  told  me  that  as  things  was  rather  quiet  in  town 
just^then  he  could  accommodate  me  for  $2.50  per  dav  or  $15.00 
per  week.  That  charge  was  reasonable  enough,  but  it  was 
beyond  my  means.  After  a  long  search  I  secured  a  room 
in  a  coal  miner's  family  for  a  dollar  per  week  without  board, 
of  course.  I  had  to  rustle  up  my  own  grub,  but  that  was 
easy,  for  I  had  the  price  in  my  pocket. 

Before  ten  in  the  morning,  I  had  secured  and  paid  for  my 
room  and  was  off  and  away  on  a  walk  to  see  the  castle. 

Stirling  Castle  stands  on  an  eminence  within  the  pre- 
cincts of  the  city  and  the  height  on  which  it  stands  is  con- 
siderably higher  than  the  one  on  which  Edinboro  Castle 
stands;  it  therefore  commands  a  wider  sweep  of  the  surround- 
ing country.  The  hill  or  mountain  on  which  the  castle  is 
perched  is  wooded  at  the  base,  forming  a  handsome  park 
which  is  utilized  a  great  deal  by  the  inhabitants  of  Stirling 
in  the  summer  time.  The  park  contains  many  fine  old  shade 
trees  and  is  a  pretty  and  romantic  spot.  A  well  made,  broad 
pathway  winds  up  the  mountain  to  the  castle,  but  long  before 
it  reaches  the  castle  it  becomes  intricate,  so  that  it  is  difficult 
to  find  the  proper  route  to  the  castle.  Shacks'  and  lanes 
extend  along  on  the  mountainside,  and  all  the  little  stone 
houses  are  inhabited.  They  do  not  need  the  protection  of 
the  castle  these  days  for  there  is  no  foe  to  harm  them, 
forays  and  assaults  being  a  thing  of  the  past.  In  this  year 
of  grace,  1913,  everything  looks  serene  on  the  horizjn. 


248 

A  troop  of  children  followed  me  as  I  walked  up  the  steep 

•  street,  discerning  at  a  glance  that  I  was  a  stranger,  and  after 

they  had  satisfied  their  curiosity  about  me,  an  elderly  lady 

admonished  them  to  "come  awa  wi  ye;   gae  name,  the  noo," 

whereupon  they  scattered. 

I  came  upon  the  esplanade  of  the  castle  and  then  saun- 
tered through  the  gate  into  the  castle  yard.  In  every  way 
this  castle  was  as  great  a  one  as  that  at  Edinboro,  but  it 
seemed  to  me  to  be  more  ancient  than  the  present  structure 
at  Edinboro,  although  the  latter  stands  as  it  was  in  Queen 
Mary's  time,  which  was  in  1550  or  thereabout. 

Stirling  Castle  was  first  built  in  remote  ages  and  was 
probably  destroyed  and  rebuilt  several  times,  but  the  last 
time  it  was  erected  must  have  been  far  earlier  than  1550, 
for  as  soon  as  I  looked  at  it  I  came  to  that  conclusion.  It 
has  a  moat,  drawbridge,  towers  and  flanking  towers;  a  cita- 
del, barracks  and  all  the  other  appurtenances  of  a  feudal 
stronghold,  but  all  the  buildings,  walls  and  facade  of  the 
castle  proper  show  that  they  are  of  rare  antiquity,  for,  though 
still  solid  and  substantial  they  are  black  with  age  and  moss- 
grown,  and  breathe  of  mustiness  and  decay.  Statues  standing 
in  niches  along  the  castle  facade  have  turned  black  and  are 
undecipherable,  for  the  human  figures  they  represent  have 
lost  the  outline  of  their  faces  and  limbs  and  it  is  difficult  to 
discern  whom  or  what  they  represented.  None  of  the  rooms 
in  the  castle  are  inhabited  or  even  furnished,  for  the  warders 
in  charge  live  in  modern  tenements  in  the  castle  yard,  close 
by,  as  does  the  lady  who  sells  souvenirs  in  the  castle  to 
visitors. 

I  had  quite  a  chat  with  this  lady,  and  I  bantered  her  a 
little,  telling  her  that  Stirling  Castle  did  not  seem  to  me  to 
be  as  fine  a  one  as  Edinboro  Castle;  whereat  she  became 
indignant.  She  seemed  to  be  .a  lady  and  was  loyal  to  Stirling 
and  its  castle. 

In  barbaric  ages  a  mere  wide  earthen  wall  was  buiH 
around  a  group  of  huts,  which  in  centuries  succeeding  was 
improved  upon  by  using  trunks  of  trees  and  rough  stonework 


249 

for  the  foundation  and  filling  in  the  spaces  with  earth.  After 
a  time  wooden  forts  were  reared  of  heavy  logs  and  beams. 
Later  on  the  castles  were  made  of  stone,  solid  and  substan- 
tial, with  walls  many  feet  -thick.  A  great  many  of  the  latter 
kind  of  structures  still  stand  in  European  countries,  testify- 
ing by  their  solidity  and  strength  how  clever  the  architects 
and  builders  were.  The  statues,  though  seem  rather  crude, 
yet  it  is  hardly  fair  to  judge  at  this  late  day.  These  were  my 
thoughts  as  I  regarded  the  ancient  stronghold.  I  regarded 
it  with  reverence  and  awe.  The  main  living  hall  in  Stirling 
Castle,  which  afterward  became  the  banquet  hall,  today  is 
bare,  gloomy  and  vast.  Many  a  feast  was  held  in  it  and  these 
feasts  have  been  well  described  in  historical  romances.  They 
consisted  usually  of  a  first  course  of  the  portions  ol  a  deer, 
a  quarter  of  a  bear,  the  shoulder  of  a  wild  boar,  or  a  course 
of  roasted  peacocks  and  swans.  A  second  course  consisted 
of  poultry,  pheasants  and  pigeons;  a  third  of  small  game  and 
meat  patties;  a  fourth  of  shad,  salmon,  mullet  and  eel  pie, 
the  last  an  especial  favorite.  For  desert  all  sorts  oi  pastries 
and  sweetmeats  were  served;  then  cloves,  ginger  and  spices. 
The  last  course  made  people  so  thirsty  that  it  drove  them 
to  drink  and  they  would  quaff  big  cups  of  wine  mixed  with 
honey  or  spice.  Of  course  such  spreads  were  for  the  noble 
or  wealthy,  but  the  poor  had  to  go  hungry  to  bed.  Do  we 
live  much  different  in  these  days?  We  live  even  better,  it 
seems  to  me.  We  have  bear,  deer  and  other  game;  and  many 
varieties  of  fish  and  shell  fish;  a  certain  wine  appropriate  to 
each  course  is  served;  and  a  vast  variety  of  poultry,  wild 
game,  meats,  etc.,  are  put  on  the  board,  as  are  pies,  cakes, 
tarts,  puddings,  ice  creams,  water  ices,  fruits,  melons,  nuts, 
raisins,  cheese,  etc.  It  seems  to  me  the  old  timers  hardly 
knew  what  good  living  was. 

I  went  upon  the  ramparts  of  the  castle  and  had  a  look 
around.  What  a  view  met  my  gaze!  Far,  far  down  below  was 
the  city  and  plain;  around  were  mountains  and  *n  the  dis- 
tance a  plain  in  which  the  field  of  Bannockburn  is  comprised. 


250 

At  the  historic  battle  of  Bannockburn  an  inferior  body 
of  Scots  put  to  route  a  vast  army  of  English,  who  had  come 
to  capture  Scotland.  Bruce  was  in  command  of  the  Scots 
and  he  ordered  that  pits  be  dug  in  the  field  so  that  the  Eng- 
lish cavalry  horses  would  drop  into  them  and  become  helpless. 
This  strategy  won  the  day,  for  the  troopers  became  as  power- 
less as  their  horses  after  they  had  fallen  into  the  pits,  and 
vast  confusion  resulted,  ending  in  a  total  defeat  arid  rout  of 
the  English. 

Everyone,  pr&bably,  has  read  Robert  Burns'  poem,  "Bruce 
at  Bannockburn."  If  not,  I  will  reprint  it  here: 

Scots,  wha  ha'e  wi'  Wallace  bled, 
Scots,  whom  Bruce  has  often  led, 
Welcome  to  your  gory  bed, 
Or  to  glorious  victorie! 

Now's  the  day  and  now's  the  hour; 
See  the  front  o'  battle  lower; 
See  approach  proud  Edward's  power — 
Edward!   chains  and  slaverie! 

Wha  will  be  a  traitor;  knave? 
Wha  can  fill  a  coward's  grave? 
Wha  sae  base  as  be  a  slave? 

Traitor!   Coward!  Turn  and  flee! 

Wha  for  Scotland's  king  and  law 
Freedom's  sword  will  strongly  dravr, 
Freemen  stand  or  freemen  fa' 
Caledonian  on  wi'  me! 

By  oppression's  woes  and  pains! 
By  your  sons  in  servile  chains! 
We  will  drain  our  dearest  veins, 

But  they  shall — they  shall  be  free. 

Lay  the  proud  usurper  low! 
Tyrants  fall  in  every  foe! 
Liberty's  in  every  blow! 

Forward! — Let  us  do  or  die! 


251 

Stirling  Castle  has  a  history  of  its  own,  and  a  long  and  a 
great  one  at  that.  The  reader  will  remember  that  I  stated, 
that  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots  was  delivered  of  a  son  in  Edin- 
burgh Castle  about  three  months  after  the  assassination  of 
Rizzio  in  Holyrood  Palace.  After  Mary's  son  was  born,  (he 
afterward  became  James  VI  of  England  and  Scotland),  she 
journeyed  with  her  babe  to  Stirling  Castle  where  the  chris- 
tening took  place  amid  great  rejoicing.  Stirling  Castle  saw 
some  stirring  events  that  day. 

Many  a  joust  and  tournament  took  place  at  Stirling 
Castle,  and  for  centuries  it  was  the  stronghold  of  the  Douglas' 
family,  which  was  one  of  royal  ancestry.  There  were  the 
Black  Douglas,  the  Red  Douglas,  and  a  Douglas  of  every  kind 
and  degree.  One  of  the  Black  Douglases  was  a  celebrated 
warrior  who  had  rather  fight  than  eat.  His  prowess  was  so 
great  that  he  was  famed  the  world  over,  and  many  a  puis- 
sant knight  rode  up  to  have  a  little  scrap  with  Mm.  The 
Black  Douglas,  a  grim,  austere  chap,  was  always  willing  to 
oblige  and  generally  laid  his  adversary  low. 

James  V  of  Scotland,  (Queen  Mary  of  Scots'  father), 
had  a  mistress  who  was  pretty,  and  she  had  by  him  a  son. 
The  king  was  delighted  and  intended  to  marry  her,  for  she 
was  of  high  birth;  but  scandalous  tales  told  to  him  changed 
his  mind. 

The  king  induced  the  Earl  of  Douglas  to  marry  the  lady 
and  he  was  nothing  loth,  nor  was  the  lady;  for  by  this  mar- 
riage they  would  both  have  the  king's  favor.  This  same  lady, 
twenty-five  or  thirty  years  afterward,  became  the  gaoler  of 
Queen  Mary,  at  Lochleven  Castle.  Bitterly  did  these  two  proud 
and  noble  ladies  hate  each  other.  Their  loves  and  hates  are 
well  described  in  Sir  Walter  Scott's  novel,  "The  Abbott,"  and 
in  Alexandre  Dumas,  Sr's.,  history  of  Queen  Mary  of  Scots. 

I  visited  Stirling  Castle  several  times  and  always  walked 
slowly  back  and  forth  along  the  wide  and  roomy  ramparts 
gazing  at  the  historic  scenes  and  surroundings,  and  thinking 
thoughts  unutterable. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
PERTH,  DUNDEE,  ARBROATH. 

After  leaving  Stirling  I  went  to  the  city  of  Perth  which 
lies  to  the  northeast  of  Stirling,  sixty  miles  or  so.  It  was  my 
intention  to  remain  in  Perth  about  a  week,  to  do  the  city 
thoroughly,  to  become  acquainted  with  the  people,  and  take 
voluminous  notes;  but  I  did  not  stick  to  my  resolution  for 
"severial"  reasons,  as  the  fellow  says. 

Possibly  you  may  have  read  Sir  Walter  Scott's  novel, 
"Fair  Maid  of  Perth."  The  maids  in  Perth  may  be  fair,  but 
the  city  is  not.  It  is  a  fairly  large  city  but  ancient,  sombre 
and  grimy  and  it  did  not  impress  me  much  nor  did  the  people. 

Perth  is  a  quaint  and  ancient  place  full  of  narrow  and 
dismal  streets  that  appeal  to  the  lover  of  the  antique,  but 
the  people  in  that  city  are  a  clannish  set  and  have  no  use 
for  strangers.  They  regarded  me  with  lowering  brows,  and 
when  I  called  at  several  houses  in  quest  of  a  furnished  room 
I  got  a  cold  reception.  The  living  apartments  in  these  houses 
were  all  reached  through  a  dark  and  gloomy  close  and  by 
means  of  narrow,  spiral  stairways  which  got  me  tired. 

The  day  of  my  arrival  there  happened  to  be  a  dull  grey 
one,  and  maybe  this  fact  depressed  my  spirits;  however,  I 
concluded  within  an  hour  that  I  would  not  remain  in  Perth 
any  longer  than  necessary  and  took  the  next  train  out.  As  I 
saw  little  of  the  place  and  did  not  familiarize  myself  with  it 
I  can  say  little  about  it.  I  did  notice  though  that  Perth  is  the 
headquarters  of  the  Black  Watch  Regiment,  the  42d  High- 
landers, which  is  so  famous  in  song  and  story,  and  so  ancient 
and  valiant.  The  Black  Watch  has  a  history  to  be  proud  of 
and  though  hundreds  of  years  old  its  organization  is  still 
kept  up.  There  are  some  well  known  dyeing  establishments 


253 

in  Perth,  which  are  well  known  throughout  Great  Britain, 
for  the  good*  work  they  do.  That  is  about  all  I  know  of  Perth. 
I  did  not  look  for  Hal  o'  the  Wynd's  blacksmith  shop,  or  the 
saddlery  shop  of  Simon  Glover,  father  of  the  "  Fair  Maid  of 
Perth."  I  don't  suppose  I  would  have  found  them,  anyway, 
had  I  looked  for  them. 

Dundee  was  my  next  stopping  place.  This  is  a  large  sea- 
port town  at  the  north  eastern  part  of  Scotland,  along  the 
North  Sea.  It  is  noted  for  its  jute,  hemp,  marmalade  and 
fisheries.  It  is  a  port  of  some  consequence  and  is  a  manufac- 
turing city  with  no  pretensions  to  beauty.  I  was  told  the 
following  facts  by  several  persons  about  Dundee,  which  may 
or  may  not  be  true.  They  said  that  the  manufacturing  estab- 
lishments employ  girls  and  women  mostly,  and  that  therefore 
the  female  population  of  Dundee  far  outnumbers  the  male. 
As  a  consequence  several  girls  club  together  and  employ  a 
man  to  do  the  household  work  at  their  home,  while  they  are 
at  work  in  the  factories.  The  male  domestic  is  the  Boss  of 
the  Harem.  Whether  this  is  idle  gossip  or  not  I  cannot  say, 
but  when  so  many  people  tell  the  same  story  there  may  be 
some  truth  in  it.  As  I  found  nothing  very  attractive  in  Dundee 
I  did  not  remain  there  long,  yet  it  is  a  quaint  and  interesting 
city  for  all  that,  and  if  one  has  business  there  or  becomes 
acquainted  one  might  as  well  be  found  dead  there  as  any- 
where else.  It  is  not  much  of  a  show  place,  though,  or  espec- 
ially attractive  to  the  stranger. 

Arbroath  was  my  next  jumping  off  place.  This  is  a  city 
in  Forfarshire  containing  25,000  inhabitants,  and  lying  a  short 
distance  north  of  Dundee  on  the  North  Sea.  It  is  the  pret- 
tiest and  snuggest  little  place  I  had  seen  since  leaving  Stir- 
ling. Have  you  ever  heard  of  the  Arbroath  bloaters?  It  is 
here  that  they  come  from  and  as  I  remained  in  Arbroath 
quite  a  while — several  weeks — I  saw  how  the  fish  are  cured. 
They  are  hung  up  and  smoked,  that  is  all.  If  any  secret 
process  is  used,  an  outsider  is  not  shown  it  or  told  of  it.  And 
yet,  the  Arbroath  bloaters  have  such  a  distinct  and  excellent 


254 

flavor  that  they  are  famous  the  world  over  and  are  shipped 
everywhere. 

The  people  of  Arbroath  are  as  nice  as  one  will  find  any- 
where. They  are  hospitable,  generous  and  free-hearted  and 
will  try  to  make  you  feel  right  at  home  with  them,  at  least, 
that  was  my  experience.  I  believe  in  stating  facts  cnly. 

The  city  lies  along  the  seacoast  and  is  very  interesting, 
I  think.  Along  its  waterfront  there  extends  a  wide  and  thick 
stone  seawall  which  prevents  the  stormy  billows  from  rolling 
in  and  inundating  the  town.  Part  of  this  seawall  is  left  open 
so  that  water  can  run  into  landlocked  basins,  in  which  the 
fishing  boats  and  all  other  vessels  can  ride  in  safety.  At  the 
open  part  of  the  seawall  there  stands  a  snug  lighthouse  which 
I  visited  many  a  time,  to  chat  with  the  lighthouse  keeper,  who 
was  a  bluff,  hearty  man  and  had  formerly  been  a  sailor. 

The  streets  are  the  cutest  and  quaintest  I  ever  saw, 
There  is  the  inevitable  High  street,  which  twists  around  the 
town  like  a  corkscrew,  rare  old  public  squares,  a  cosy  public 
library,  a  multitude  of  shops  and  an  historic  old  abbey  that 
the  Arbroath  folk  take  a  great  pride  in  and  swear  by. 

The  abbey  covers  several  acres  of  ground,  is  enclosed  by 
an  immensely  thick  wall,  and  in  early  days  was  the  residence 
of  royalty  as  well  as  of  the  highest  church  dignitaries. 
Within  the  enclosure,  which  long  was  presided  over  by  abbots, 
there  are  the  ecclesiastical  buildings,  the  residence  and 
dormitories  of  the  numerous  churchmen,  kitchens,  stables, 
etc.;  and  in  fact,  the  place  was  a  hamlet  in  itself.  But  time 
has  dealt  with  it  hardly.  Nearly  all  the  buildings  are  gone, 
the  walls  are  rotting  away,  and  there  remains  only  the 
grounds  which  are  kept  in  good  order.  The  abbey  is  so  old 
that  its  origin  is  shrouded  in  mystery.  In  the  public  library 
at  Arbroath  I  took  up  a  thick  and  heavy  volume  which  con- 
tained a  detailed  history  of  the  abbey,  that  was  voluminous 
and  interesting;  but  I  can  not  go  into  it  here.  I  took  up  my 
abode  with  a  large  and  interesting  family  in  Arbroath  who 
made  me  feel  at  home.  They  were  charming  and  hospitable. 


255 

Scotland  is  comparatively  a  small  country,  containing 
many  cities,  towns  and  villages,  which  lie  close  together.  It 
is  a  fairly  populous  country,  but  not  as  much  so  as  it  was, 
for  many  have  emigrated,  and  to  show  how  keen  competition 
in  trade  and  business  is,  I  will  give  a  partial  list  of  the  busi- 
ness establishments  maintained  in  Arbroath,  a  city  of  some- 
what less  than  25,000  inhabitants.  I  copied  the  list  from  the 
Arbroath  city  directory: 

"There  are  three  aerated  water  manufacturies;  eight  cycle 
agents;  one  emigrant  agent;  two  architects;  six  photo  artists; 
seven  auctioneers  and  valuators;  six  baby  linen  warehouses; 
nine  bakeries;  eight  bankers;  two  bill  posters;  twenty  black- 
smiths; four  bleachers;  two  bobbin  manufacturers;  fifteen 
booksellers  and  stationers;  thirty-six  boot  and  shoe  makers; 
one  brewer;  eight  brokers;  six  ship  brokers;  six  builders; 
three  cab  proprietors;  four  upholsterers  and  cabinet,  makers; 
four  carriers  and  contractors;  six  chemists  and  duggists;  six 
chimney  sweepers;  ten  glassware  dealers;  forty  confection- 
ers; one  cooper;  two  dentists;  twenty-five  drapers;  two  dyers; 
six  engineers;  seven  fancy  warehouses;  one  farina  manufac- 
turer; five  fish  curers;  nine  fishmongers;  twelve  flax  spinners; 
seventeen  fleshers;  fourteen  fruiterers  and  green  grocers; 
eight  funeral  undertakers;  100  grocers;  thirteen  hairdressers; 
seven  hotels;  six  ironmongers;  twelve  joiners;  twelve  laun- 
dries; twelve  millinery  establishments;  one  motor  garage; 
three  newspapers;  nine  saddleries;  six  sail  cloth  manufac- 
turers; a  Singer  sewing  machine  factory;  three  employment 
offices;  eighteen  solicitors;  forty-four  spirit  dealers;  twenty 
tailors  and  clothiers;  six  tanners  and  curriers;  thirteen  tobac- 
conists; four  umbrella  makers;  four  waste  dealers,  etc." 

Quoting  the  directory,  also: 

"Arbroath  is  a  Royal  and  Parliamentary  burgh,  seat  of  a 
small  debt  court  and  a  thriving  seaport.  It  contains  an  an- 
cient abbey  whose  ruins  attract  many  visitors.  The  harbor 
has  been  greatly  improved  of  late;  etc." 

After  leaving  Arbroath  I  went  to  Montrose,  a  town  of 
about  15,000  inhabitants,  lying  along  the  seacoast  a  few  miles 


256 

north  of  Arbroath;  and  there  I  received  such  a  frigid  reception 
by  people  who  did  not  like  strangers,  that  I  became  disheart- 
ened and  disgusted,  and  shook  the  town  just  as  soon  as  I  pos- 
sibly could.  Some  people  may  think  that  I  am  romancing  or 
that  I  am  captious  or  prejudiced,  but  the  following  extracts 
from  a  Scottish  newspaper  may  undeceive  them:  — 

''Incomer  is  the  Border  term  for  Outlander  or  Alien  and 
once  an  Incomer  always  an  Incomer,  is  the  inflexible  rule. 

"Come  from  where  you  will  in  all  the  wide  world  and  set- 
tle down  anywhere  betwixt  Peebles  and  Hawick,  and  you  will 
soon  be  made  aware  of  the  pitying  contempt  which  is  be- 
stowed on  anyone  who  has  had  the  misfortune  to  be  born  be- 
yond the  boundaries  of  the  hallowed  province.  'Leal  to  the 
Borders'  is  a  phrase  which  never  fails  to  raise  the  enthusiasm 
of  any  gathering  of  Borderers,  and  the  loyalty  is,  or  pretends 
to  be,  of  that  blind  kind  which  must  add  to  its  fervour  by  de- 
nying all  other  parts  of  the  world. 

"There  are  many  kinds  of  patriotism  and  the  Borderers' 
patriotism  may  be  roughly  defined  thus:  he  believes  the  Em- 
pire to  be  the  grandest  the  world  has  known;  Britain  to  be  the 
best  part  of  the  Empire;  Scotland  to  be  the  finest  part  of 
Britain;  the  Borders  incomparably  the  most  magnificent  por- 
tion of  Scotland;  and  his  own  particular  town  the  centre  of 
all  the  concentrated  excellencies  of  imperial  and  national  life. 
For  him  Galashiels  or  Selkirk,  or  Hawick — as  the  case  may  be 
• — is  the  very  hub  of  the  universe.  Throughout  his  life  and  even 
when  his  looks  grow  lyart  he  holds  firmly  to  the  belief,  sung 
of  by  Hogg  in  his  Farewell  to  Ettrick — 

'There  first  I  saw  the  rising  morn; 
'There  first  my  infant  mind  unfurled, 
'To  ween  that  spot  where  I  was  born 
'The  very  centre  of  the  world.'  " 

But  enough  of  such  matters.  When  I  got  the  frozen  stare 
and  the  marble  heart  I  began  to  feel  that  I  had  better  pull  up 
stakes  and  go  elsewhere.  If  people  don't  like  me  I  can  go  back 
into  the  woods.  It  had  been  my  intention  to  go  to  Inverness, 


257 

the  capital  of  the  Highlands,  and  thence  down  the  West  coast 
of  Scotland  where  some  of  the  prettiest  and  wildest  scenery 
in  Scotland  may  be  encountered;  but  maybe  I  might  have  got 
a  worse  reception  from  the  Highlanders  than  I  did  from  the 
Lowlanders,  so  I  deemed  it  best  to  take  no  chances. 

Thereupon  I  resolved  to  return  by  rail  at  once  to  Glasgow 
and  to  take  boat  thence  to  Belfast,  in  Ireland,  which  I  did. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 
OFF  FOR  IRELAND. 

Stranger,  did  you  ever  hear  of  the  Blarney  Stone  in  Ire- 
land, and  did  you  ever  read  the  poem  referring  to  it,  which 
runs  thus:  — 

The  groves  of  Blarney 
They  are  so  charming 
Down  by  the  purling 

Of  sweet,  silent  streams; 
Being  banked  by  posies 
That  spontaneous  grow  there 
Planted  in  order 

By  the  sweet  rock  close. 

And  there  is  a  stone  there, 
That  whoever  kisses, 
Oh,  he  never  misses, 

To  grow  eloquent; 
Sure  'tis  he  may  clamber 
To  my  lady's  chamber 
Or,  become  a  member 

Of  Parliament. 


258 

A  clever  spouter 
He'll  sure  turn  out,  or 
An  Out  and  Outer, 

To  be  let  alone; 
Don't  hope  to  hinder  him 
Or  to  bewilder  him — 
Sure,  he's  a  pilgrim 

From  the  Blarney  Stone. 

Did  you  ever  see  a  sweet,  silent  stream  that  went  on  purl- 
ing? I  never  did. 

If  posies  were  planted  in  order  by  the  sweet  rock  close, 
would  they  have  grown  there  spontaneously?  Only  in  Ireland. 

And  if  a  fellow  kisses  a  certain  stone  would  he  never  fail 
to  grow  eloquent?  To  be  sure  he  would  not  fail. 

And  if  he  kissed  that  stone  would  he  be  allowed  to  clam- 
ber into  my  lady's  chamber  without  getting  fired  out? 

And  would  he  be  sure  to  become  a  member  of  Parliament? 
Why,  certainly;  there  can  be  no  doubt  about  that. 

"Don't  hope  to  hinder  him,  or  to  bewilder  him,  for  he  is  a 
pilgrim  from  the  Blarney  Stone." 

Do  you  see  the  subtle  wit,  the  refined  raillery,  of  this  fa- 
mous poem?  Only  a  clever  and  witty  Irishman  could  have 
written  it,  and  it  was  written  by  an  Irishman,  Shenstone,  I 
believe.  The  educated  Irish  are  naturally  witty  and  clever, 
and  I  am  now  going  to  Ireland  to  see  them. 

Don't  you  envy  me?  Wouldn't  you  like  to  have  gone  with 
me?  Poor,  dear,  old  Ireland!  thy  trials  and  tribulations  have 
been  many,  yet  almost  everyone  loves  thee,  and  hopes  thou 
wilt  see  better  days.  I  love  thee  and  thy  warm-hearted  people 
and  wish  thee  good  luck. 

After  leaving  the  inhospitable  town  of  northern  Scotland 
behind  me,  I  was  whisked  in  a  railroad  train  to  Glesgie  once 
more,  and  that  very  evening  one  of  the  Burns'  line  of  steamers 
that  ply  between  Glasgow,  Scotland,  and  Belfast,  Ireland,  bore 
me  to  the  shores  of  the  Emerald  Isle.  The  Burns'  line 
steamers  are  named  Vampire,  Viper,  Scorpion,  Tarantula,  etc., 


259 

and  they  are  pretty  and  swift  black  little  steamers  that  can 
go  like  a  streak  when  the  water  of  the  Irish  Sea  is  not  too 
rough;  and  they  are  neat  and  comfortable  with  all.  I  traveled 
steerage,  of  course,  for  my  means  were  limited,  but  the  trip  is 
a  short  one  of  a  few  hours  duration  only,  down  the  pictur- 
esque Clyde,  past  shipyards  on  both  sides  of  the  river,  past  the 
Isle  of  Bute  and  then  the  Isle  of  Arran,  south,  toward  Belfast. 
The  boat  left  the  Broomielaw  in  Glasgow  at  about  eight  p.  m, 
and  before  the  dawn  of  the  following  morning  she  was  an- 
chored safely  and  securely  at  her  pier  in  Belfast.  I  was  up 
and  out  of  my  bunk  as  she  was  made  fast,  for  I  wanted  to  get 
a  glimpse  of  Ireland  as  soon  as  possible. 

The  boat  had  sped  through  Belfast  Lough  long  before  the 
dawn,  but  as  I  did  not  believe  that  the  shores  of  Ireland  could 
be  seen  at  that  time  of  day,  I  did  not  go  on  deck. 

What  were  my  feelings  when  I  set  foot  on  Irish  soil? 

Well,  I  can  hardly  describe  them.  I  was  elated  yet  calm, 
for  what  is  the  use  of  getting  too  much  excited  over  anything? 
I  had  heard  of  Ireland,  dreamed  of  it,  seen  pictures  of  it,  and 
had  seen  Irish  people  by  the  million  in  my  own  country,  but 
here  was  the  real  thing  before  me.  Sister  Anne,  am  I  sleeping 
or  waking?  Give  me  a  good  hard  pinch,  will  you?  Wake  me 
up;  it  is  early  in  the  day,  anyway,  and  I  need  an  eye  opener. 

No  one  on  the  boat  told  me  to  go  ashore,  but  I  did  not 
have  to  be  told,  even  if  it  was  not  yet  five  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing. The  wharf  that  we  were  anchored  at  was  a  covered  one, 
not  very  long,  it  is  true,  but  neat  and  well  paved,  and  pretty 
well  piled  up  with  merchandise.  The  wharf  lies  along  the 
River  Lagan  which  empties  into  Belfast  Lough  (or  bay). 

I  walked  down  the  gangplank  sedately,  thinking  I  don't 
know  what.  No  one  was  at  work  yet,  not  even  the  stevedores, 
for  it  was  far  too  early.  I  stepped  out  of  the  shed  into  the 
silent  and  deserted  streets  and  then  I  saw  things,  things  that 
reminded  me  of  scenes  I  had  observed  painted  on  curtains 
and  on  drop  scenes  in  theatres  at  home. 

Can  this  be  Ireland?  Why,  surely  it  is.  There  can  be  no 
mistake  about  it.  Observe  those  Irish  houses  there  will  you, 


260 

with  their  neat  stone  fronts  and  their  sloping  roofs  with  chim- 
neys topped  by  numerous  tiles. 

Why,  they  exude  Hibernianism  and  they  make  me  feel 
like  sititng  down  to  write  some  nice  poetry,  but  Tom  Moore's 
would  so  eclipse  mine  that  I  think  I  had  better  refrain. 

The  streets  near  the  water  front  were  wide  and  well 
paved,  and  I  wandered  along  the  more  prominent  ones.  I 
came  upon  a  square,  and  then  upon  the  Albert  Memorial  which 
stands  at  the  foot  of  High  street.  So,  then,  Irish  towns  have 
their  High  street'  as  well  as  Scottish  towns?  That  is  worth 
remembering.  But  now  the  High  street  was  deserted;  there 
was  no  traffic  on  it;  it  was  too  early.  On  either  side  of  the 
street,  which  was  a  broad  one,  were  ranged  high-class  stores 
and  shops,  and  a  double  line  of  car  tracks  ran  through  it,  for 
tramcars  evidently,  and  doubledeckers  at  that. 

Further  along  I  came  upon  Donegall  Place  and  then  upon 
Royal  avenue,  both  of  which  are  wide  thoroughfares  that  are 
flanked  by  elegant  stores.  Why,  I  had  always  heard  that  Ire- 
land was  a  poor,  distressed  country;  but  a  fellow  can't  believe 
half  that  he  hears.  No  evidence  of  poverty  or  distress  was 
here.  On  the  contrary,  everything  seemed  prosperous.  Why 
should  Ireland  have  been  slandered?  It  is  a  fine,  rich  country, 
as  fine  as  any;  and  all  it  needs  is  liberty,  fraternity  and  equal- 
ity to  make  it  great. 

I  took  a  good,  long  walk  over  many  parts  of  Belfast,  and 
found  the  city  in  all  respects  modern,  up-to-date,  clean,  neat 
and  well  paved;  with  districts  containing  quaint,  old-fash- 
ioned houses,  the  like  of  which  I  had  never  seen  before.  I  fell 
in  love  with  the  place  and  felt  that  I  could  be  happy  there  had 
I  had  the  wherewithal  to  keep  me  a-going;  but  I  had  not,  and 
in  fact  I  had  so  little  money  remaining  by  this  time  that  my 
heart  sank,  for  I  imagined  there  would  be  trouble  and  disasters 
for  me  before  long.  But  what  is  the  use  of  anticipating 
trouble?  I  was  not  broke  just  yet.  "Sufficient  unto  the  day  is 
the  evil  thereof." 

Belfast  is  a  commercial  city,  the  largest  in  Ireland.  What 
Glasgow  is  to  Scotland,  Belfast  is  to  Ireland,  the  metropolis. 


261 

Dublin  is  the  show  place  of  Ireland,  and  its  capital,  as  Edin- 
burgh is  Scotland's  show  place  and  capital.  Dublin  has  about 
the  same  number  of  inhabitants  as  Edinburgh,  but  Belfast  has 
only  about  350,000  people,  whilst  Glasgow  has  nearly  a  million. 
A  whole  lot  of  shipbuilding  is  done  along  the  River  Lagan  at 
Belfast,  but  as  a  port  or  commercial  centre,  Belfast  at  the 
present  time  cannot  begin  to  compare  with  Glasgow.  Some 
day  in  the  future  Ireland  may  have  Home  Rule  and  then  her 
population  will  increase  and  her  industries  expand. 

Let  me  give  a  brief  history  of  Belfast,  which  I  have  bor- 
rowed for  the  occasion:  — 

"Although  it  is  not  claimed  for  Belfast  that  her  rank  in 
historic  association  equals  that  of  her  sister  city  of  Dublin,  it 
is  an  indisputable  fact  that  as  a  great  commercial  city,  also  as 
a  maritime  port  and  a  hive  of  enterprising  industry,  Belfast 
holds  the  front  and  the  most  important  place  of  any  town  in 
Ireland.  It  is  the  capital  of  Ulster,  the  County  Town  of  An- 
trim and  on  both  sides  of  the  River  Lagan,  which  discharges 
itself  into  Belfast  Lough  (Bay),  an  extensive  inlet  from  the 
Irish  Channel.  Although  noticed  in  the  old  histories  of  tho 
country  as  existing  as  far  back  as  the  middle  of  the  twelfth 
century,  the  town  is,  practically  speaking,  of  comparatively 
recent  date,  but  it  has  well  earned  the  reputation  of  being  the 
commercial  capital  and  most  important  manufacturing  town 
in  Ireland.  It  is  only  within  recent  years  (1888)  that  it  has 
been  raised  to  the  dignity  of  a  city,  but  it  is  beyond  all  dis- 
pute that  Belfast  has  won  for  herself  by  her  loyalty,  her 
unflagging  industry  and  the  integrity  of  her  citizens,  all  the 
honors  that  have  been  bestowed  upon  her. 

"The  name  Belfast  is  derived  from  the  Celtic  word  'Beol 
fearsad,'  signifying  the  mouth  of  a  ford  (or  Beol) ;  and  fear- 
sad,  pools  of  water  in  a  sandbank.  A  very  ancient  tradition 
says  that  this  ford  (or  sandbank)  was  the  scene  of  a  battle 
in  A.  D.  660. 

"The  first  castle  of  Belfast  was  probably  built  by  Sir 
John  De  Courcey,  although  Belfast  was  then  hardly  more 
than  a  fishing  village.  In  1316  the  castle  was  sacked 


2G2 

by  Edward  Bruce,  brother  to  the  great  Robert,  who  destroyed 
many  towns  in  Ireland  during  scrimmages  between  the  Scotch 
and  Irish.  It  is  recorded  that  King  John  passed  through 
Belfast  on  his  way  to  Carrickfergus,  and  that  in  1503  an  expe- 
dition under  Gerald,  Earl  of  Kildare,  Lord  Deputy  of  Ireland, 
entered  Ulster  and  destroyed  the  Castle  of  Belfast;  it  was, 
however,  fully  restored  and  re-occupied  by  the  O'Niels;  but 
in  1812  the  Earl  of  Kildare  made  a  second  attack  and  again 
destroyed  the  castle,  which  seems  to  have  been  the  scene  of 
many  a  sanguinary  fray,  it  having  been  taken  and  retaken 
frequently  during  this  unsettled  period. 

"During  the  civil  war  in  1G41  Belfast  was  brought  promi- 
nently into  notice;  it  was  taken  possession  of  by  General 
Munro  on  behalf  of  the  Scottish  Government.  The  Scotch 
held  Belfast  until  in  1648  when  it  was  taken  possession  of  by 
the  English.  The  last  castle  was  erected  by  Sir  Arthur 
Chicester,  Lord  Deputy  of  Ireland,  afterwards  Baron  Chicester 
of  Belfast,  early  in  the  seventeenth  century  and  was  accident- 
ally destroyed  by  fire  in  1708,  when  the  three  Ladies 
Chichester,  daughters  of  the  third  Earl  of  Donegall,  perished 
in  the  conflagration. 

"  Belfast  is  the  nucleus  of  the  staple  trade  of  Ulster,  con- 
taining about  fifty  flax  spinning  mills  and  forty  linen  weaving 
factories,  and  giving  employment  to  over  50,000  people.  The 
damask  manufacturing  is  pursued  with  great  spirit  and  suc- 
cess. The  sewed  muslin  trade  of  Belfast  is  also  of  vast 
importance. 

"The  magnificent  shipbuilding  yards  of  Harland  and 
Wolff,  and  other  shipbuilding  firms,  have  created  a  friendly 
rivalry  with  the  Clyde  and  indeed,  in  some  respects,  exceeds 
in  importance  the  class  of  vessels  turned  out  from  any  port 
of  the  world.  Belfast  is  essentially  a  shipbuilding  port  and 
possibly,  except  for  the  linen  manufacturing,  no  branch  of 
industry  has  done  so  much  to  increase  its  prosperity.  The 
chief  firm  engaged  in  this  work,  Harland  &  Wolff  of  Queens 
Island  in  the  River  Lagan,  off  Belfast,  may  be  considered  one 
of  the  first  and  most  extensive  in  the  world.  Amongst  the 


263 

ships  turned  out  by  them  are  the  Oceanic,  Celtic,  Majestic, 
Teutonic  and  Baltic,  the  last  in  her  day,  (1904),  being  the 
largest  vessel  afloat.  (The  Titanic  which  was  lost  in  the 
spring  of  1912  in  collision  with  an  iceberg,  also  was  built  by 
Harland  &  Wolff. — W.  B.).  Harland  &  Wolf  commenced  busi- 
ness in  1853  and  in  1859  the  staff  was  100  men.  There  are 
now  engaged  from  9000  to  12,000." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 
BELFAST. 

I  had  a  good  long  walk  through  the  city,  saw  as  much  of 
it  as  I  cared  to  just  then,  and  as  my  inner  man  began  to  re- 
mind me  that  he  needed  attention,  I  walked  back  to  High 
street  where  I  entered  a  restaurant  and  had  breakfast. 

On  my  way  back  to  High  street  I  noticed  that  the  streets 
were  full  of  working  and  business  people  who  were  going  to 
their  occupations.  They  were  fine,  hearty  lads  and  lassies, 
rosy  cheeked,  good  natured,  orderly  and  well  behaved.  No 
rowdyism  to  be  seen  here.  After  breakfast,  according  to  my 
usual  habit  when  I  got  into  a  strange  town  I  hunted  up  a 
furnished  room. 

Down  near  the  waterfront  there  is  a  maze  of  small  streets 
which  are  inhabited  by  the  poorer  class  of  people  and  it  was 
there  I  went  to  find  a  furnished  room.  In  a  short,  narrow 
street  I  came  upon  an  unpretentious  hotel  built  of  stone  and 
which  was  three  stories  in  height,  narrow  and  cheap  looking; 
in  it  I  concluded  to  go  to  try  my  luck  for  lodgings.  I  went  in 
and  found  myself  in  a  small  anteroom,  or  office,  which  was 
stone  flagged  and  contained  a  couple  of  rickety  chairs,  a  cheap 
old  counter  and  nothing  more.  At  the  back  of  it  was  a  small 
kitchen  which  served  as  dining  room  as  well.  The  latter  apart- 
ment opened  on  a  small  stone  flagged  courtyard  which  was 


2C4 

entirely  shut  in  by  the  buildings  that  surrounded  it.  The 
kitchen  door  opening  on  yard  or  court,  was  of  wood  and  in 
two  parts,  an  upper  and  a  lower;  either  one  of  which  could 
be  opened  or  closed  independently  of  the  other.  The  lower 
half  was  usually  closed  and  the  upper  part  left  open;  why,  I 
don't  know.  Maybe  it  was  to  keep  out  cats;  who  knows? 

After  I  had  stamped  around  in  the  office  a  little  while  to 
announce  my  presence,  for  there  was  not  a  soul  in  it,  a  lady 
came  down  stairs  and  greeted  me.  It  was  the  landlady.  I 
informed  her  I  was  an  American,  that  I  had  just  arrived  in 
Ireland  and  that  I  was  in  search  of  a  furnished  room.  The 
lady  was  very  gracious  and  assured  me  that  she  could  accom- 
modate me.  She  was  under  thirty  and  decidedly  handsome. 
She  had  a  round,  full  face,  a  buxom  figure  and  the  most  de- 
lightful accent  you  ever  heard.  I  fancied  her  at  once.  We 
had  a  good,  long  chat  and  she  rented  me  a  small,  front  room 
on  the  top  floor  at  a  satisfying  price.  While  we  were  in  the 
room  talking  she  was  so  very  amiable  and  agreeable  that  I 
could  not  resist  an  intent  to  embrace  her  but  this  she  resented 
instantly.  We  had  a  struggle,  but  she  fought  so  strenuousl} , 
yet  good-naturedly,  that  I  desisted. 

"Why  can't  I  have  a  kiss?"  asked  I. 

"The  ladies  in  Ireland  don't  do  such  things,"  said  she. 

At  this  I  wondered  but  maybe  it  is  true,  thought  I.  I 
afterward  learned  that  the  ladies  in  Ireland  are  very  circum- 
spect. They  are  mindful  of  their  honor  for  if  they  lose  it, 
the  finger  of  scorn  and  contumely  will  be  pointed  at  them, 
and  they  find  it  wise  to  pull  up  stakes  and  go  elsewhere. 

The  lady  whom  I  had  so  irresistibly  been  drawn  to  was  m 
partnership  with  her  sister,  and  both  were  owners  of  the 
hotel  which  had  been  left  them  by  their  father.  The  sister 
was  sick  in  bed  and  my  landlady  took  me  in  to  see  her,  first 
asking  permission  of  the  invalid  to  do  so. 

I  went  in  and  was  introduced  to  as  sweet  a  young  woman 
as  ever  I  set  eyes  on,  who  was  in  bed  with  some  complaint, 
the  nature  of  which  I  did  not  learn.  She  had  fine  grey  eyes, 
light  hair  and  features  that  were  comely,  but  her  cheeks  were 


205 

somewhat  sunken.  The  poor  dear,  young  lady;  how  I  pitied 
her!  I  joked  with  her  somewhat,  told  her  that  I  was  a 
stranger  in  Ireland  and  that  I  was  in  sore  need  of  a  chaperon. 
I  begged  her  to  get  well  so  that  she  could  chaperon  me  about. 
At  this  she  laughed  and  said  she  would  surely  try. 

I  went  in  to  see  her  several  times  afterward  during  my 
stay,  to  cheer  her  up  and  to  chat  with  her. 

After  renting  the  room  I  went  forth  on  a  further  sight- 
seeing tour  of  the  city.  I  crossed  the  Lagan  on  a  handsome 
and  substantial  stone  bridge  and  came  upon  an  old  district 
that  was  full  of  queer  streets  and  houses.  Over  them  hovered 
an  atmosphere  that  I  would  designate  as  being  distinctly  Irish, 
for  it  felt  different  from  a  Scottish  atmosphere.  I  cannot 
properly  describe  such  things;  they  must  be  felt  to  be  prop- 
erly appreciated. 

In  the  River  Lagan  I  noticed  quite  a  number  of  low, 
rather  flat  boats  that  seemed  something  like  canal  boats,  yet 
they  were  not  that,  for  they  differed  from  canal  boats  in  many 
respects.  The  sailing  vessels  seemed  odd  to  me,  too,  for  I 
had  never  seen  the  like  of  them  before. 

Along  the  wharves  on  both  sides  of  the  river,  steamers 
were  moored.  On  the  right  bank  as  you  stand  on  the  hand- 
some bridge  I  have  alluded  to  which  is  called  the  Queen's 
Bridge  and  was  named  after  Queen  Victoria,  no  doubt,  you 
can  see  Queens  Island,  on  which  is  located  Harland  &  Wolff's 
famous  shipyard.  It  is  not  far  down  the  river.  As  I  did  not 
visit  the  yard  I  cannot  say  much  about  it. 

I  strolled  into  Ormeau  Park  which  is  a  pleasant  spot 
owned  by  the  city  and  can  be  reached  after  a  pretty  long  hike 
through  a  maze  of  streets  in  a  residential  district.  This  park, 
before  the  city  acquired  it,  was  an  extensive  domain  owned  by 
Lord  Donegall  who  made  it  his  country  residence.  It  contains 
rare  old  trees,  lawns,  shady  walks  and  bowers,  and  I  had  not 
been  in  the  park  long  before  I  scraped  up  an  acquaintance 
with  a  lively  young  lady,  who,  as  soon  as  she  learned  that  I 
was  from  America,  became  friendly.  She  was  the  daughter 
of  a  college  professor  who  had  to  leave  Ireland  because  of  ill 


266 

health,  and  she  had  a  brother  in  Los  Angeles,  California.  She 
asked  me  if  I  had  met  him,  but  I  expressed  my  regret  that  I 
had  not.  Then  she  wanted  to  know  all  about  Los  Angeles  and 
I  gave  her  all  the  information  that  I  could  which  was  not 
much,  for  I  am  not  well  acquainted  in  that  city,  having  been 
there  less  than  twenty-four  hours. 

The  young  lady  was  slight  in  form  and  below  medium 
height.  She  had  red  hair,  small,  thin  features,  quick  eyes, 
and  was  vivacious  in  manner,  but  not  pretty.  She  was  a 
deaconess  in  a  church  in  Belfast,  she  told  me,  but  what  such 
a  position  implies  I  do  not  know,  nor  did  I  like  to  ask  ques- 
tions regarding  it.  The  young  lady  was  well  educated  and 
intellectual,  but  from  further  associations  with  her  at  subse- 
quent periods  I  gathered  that  she  was  only  virtuous  from  fear 
of  gossip  and  that  she  was  a  little  hypocrite.  Not  a  nice  thing 
to  say,  maybe,  but  it  is  true. 

After  returning  to  the  city  from  the  park,  I  boarded  a 
tram  at  Royal  avenue  and  rode  out  into  the  suburbs  and  en- 
joyed the  ride  very  much.  I  mounted  to  the  upper  deck  of  the 
tram,  which  is  reached  by  means  of  a  spiral  stairway  at  the 
rear  platform,  and  sat  down  on  a  bench,  pulled  forth  my  pipe 
and  indulged  in  a  comfortable  smoke  while  viewing  the  scenes 
as  the  car  rolled  along.  I  passed  the  public  library  on  Royal 
avenue  and  other  fine  buildings,  and  then  came  to  York  street, 
which  is  not  a  high  toned  thoroughfare,  but  a  broad  one  full 
of  old-fashioned  stores  and  buildings.  Some  of  the  suburbs 
around  Belfast  are  pretty,  and  wear  a  country-like  and  quaint 
aspect. 

Taking  everything  into  consideration,  I  will  candidly  say 
that  Belfast  does  not  amount  to  much  as  a  show  town.  It  is 
a  practical,  commercial  city  and  contains  few  antiquities.  It 
is  modern  and  up-to-date  and  contains  wholesale  and  retail 
establishments,  many  factories,  and  it  is  a  hive  of  industry 
and  commercialism.  Had  I  had  the  means  I  would  not  have 
remained  there  long,  but  would  have  gone  to  the  south  of 
Ireland  to  visit  Dublin  and  other  show  places;  but  I  had  to 
remain  in  Belfast  to  find  something  to  do.  I  looked  for  a 


267 

position  of  some  kind.  The  trials  and  tribulations  I  had  in 
finding  one  were  many.  Sometimes  I  despaired,  but  finally  I 
secured  a  situation  as  assistant  porter  in  a  large  store  on 
Royal  avenue,  and  had  it  not  been  for  the  fact  that  the  head 
porter  had  spent  some  time  in  America,  I  would  not  have 
secured  the  position. 

I  worked  conscientiously  and  steadily  and  by  so  doing 
retained  my  job  for  several  months;  as  long,  in  fact,  as  I 
cared  to.  I  saved  every  penny  that  I  could  and  had  de- 
termined that  I  would  take  a  steamer  home  again  as  soon  as 
I  could,  for  I  was  getting  homesick;  a  longing  to  go  home 
came  over  me  that  I  could  not  resist.  It  is  no  joke  at  all 
to  be  in  the  "old  country"  without  money,  for  a  thousand 
and  one  reasons  that  I  need  not  state  here.  Even  with  money, 
sightseeing  palls  on  one  eventually. 

I  will  try  to  put  before  the  reader  graphically  as  I  can 
how  things  are  done  in  Ireland  so  as  to  enable  him  to  form 
his  own  impressions.  I  clipped  some  advertisements  from  the 
"Northern  Whig"  newspaper  of  Belfast  which  are  worthy  of 
perusal.  Here  is  the  manner  in  which  a  Belfast  dentist 
advertises: 


BRADLEY'S   TEETH. 

Being  fitted  in  one  day  without  the  removal  of 
teeth  or  stumps,  it  is  utterly  impossible  to  go  else- 
where and  obtain  better  value  than  we  offer.  Sets  from 
21  shillings;  single  teeth  from  2l/2  shillings  (about  60 
cents).  Remodeling  at  very  little  cost.  Part  railway 
fare  allowed.  Established  1865.  Bradley,  3  Donegall 
Place,  Belfast. 


SALE  THIS  DAY. 

Short  Notice. 

Peremptory,  and  Compulsary  Sale  of  Valuable  Motor 
Car. 

To  be  Sold  by  Auction,  at  our  Rooms,  on  Saturday 
at  the  hour  of  11:30  A.  M. 


268 

10-12  H.  P.  2  Cylinder  Coventry-Humber  Motcr   Car; 
Ignition   Accumulator;    3    speeds   and   reverse;    Dunlop 
tyres;   side  entrance,  to  seat  4;   upholstered  red;   dark- 
red  body;  in  excellent  condition  and  good  running  order. 
Owing  to  the  circumstances  the  Car  must  be  Sold. 

On  view  Friday,  at  our  Rooms. 
Black  &  Son,  Auctioneers  and  Valuaters, 
126  Royal  Avenue. 


BLACKFACED  EWE  HOGGS. 

County  Auction  Mart,  Ayr. 

Annual  Market  Sale  for  Blackfaced  Ewe  Hoggs,  and 
Special  for  Blackfaced  Wedder  Hoggs;  also  Sheep  Sale 
for  all  classes  of  Grazing  Cattle,  when  these  will  be 
exposed — 

3,000  Blackfaced  Ewe  Hoggs,  all  of  which  have  been 
wintered  in  the  County,  affording  Buyers  an  opportunity 
of  Selecting  Stock  Hoggs  of  a  good  class. 
1,000  Cross  Hoggs. 
200  Blackfaced  Wedder  Hoggs. 

60  Blackfaced  Ewes,  with  Cross  Lambs  at  foot. 
150  to  200  Grazing  Cattle,  including  several  Lots 
of  Good  Eild  Queys  and  Stirks,  and  a  number  of  Bullocks 
for  Short  Keep. 

Sale  will  start  with  Cattle  in  Dairy  Ring  at  10 
o'clock;  Sheep  in  Special  Ring  immediately  after,  prob- 
ably about  12,  Starting  with  Ewes. 


Important  Auction  of  those  Highly  Valuable  and  Old 
Established  Licensed  Premises  known  as  Crawfords- 
burn  Inn,  Crawfordsburn  Co.  Down,  together  with  Six 
Day  License,  Fixtures  and  Fittings. 

We  beg  to  announce  instructions  from  Mr.  J.  S. 
Bede  to  sell  by  Auction  in  The  Mart,  Rosemary  Street, 
Belfast. 


269 

His  entire  interest  in  those  Well  Known  and  His- 
torical Licensed  Premises,  held  under  Leases  from  the 
Marquis  of  Dufferin  and  Ava. 

This  Old  Established  and  Historical  Inn  is  most 
picturesquely  situated  in  the  Village  of  Crawforclsburn, 
on  the  main  road  from  Belfast  to  Bangor,  being  about 
8  miles  from  Belfast  and  1  mile  from  Helen's  Bay 
Station.  It  contains  large  Tearoom,  30  ft.  x  18  ft.  Bar, 
6  Sitting  Rooms,  6  Bedrooms,  Lavatory,  Bath  Room,  2 
Kitchens,  Pantries,  Scullery,  Larders,  and  2  Commo- 
dious Spirit  and  Beer  Cellars.  At  the  rear  is  a  very 
pretty  old  Garden,  beautifully  laid  out;  within  the 
Gardens  is  a  spacious  Ballroom  for  the  use  of  visitors. 

The  Crawfordsburn  Inn  is  a  most  favorite  resort  for 
motorists,  cyclists,  picnic  parties,  etc.,  and  many  thous- 
ands find  it  a  delightful  spot  in  which  to  enjoy  the  hospi- 
tality offered. 

The  Premises  are  only  being  offered  for  Sale  owing 
to  the  present  representative  of  the  family,  which  has 
been  in  occupation  of  the  Inn  for  the  past  80  years,  be- 
ing desirous  of  retiring  into  private  life  after  a  most 
successful  business  career. 

The  Auctioneers  can  with  the  utmost  confidence 
recommend  the  above  Premises  to  intending  purchasers, 
it  being  seldom  an  opportunity  offers  of  acquiring  such 
a  thoroughly  sound  and  remunerative  business. 

A  great  many  parties  have  been  arranged  for  the 
coming  season,  of  which  the  purchaser  will  have  the 
benefit. 

There  is  a  plentiful  supply  of  water  laid  on  the 
Premises.  Immediate  possession  can  be  given.  The 
Purchaser  shall  take  the  Stock-in-Trade,  Furniture,  and 
Utensils  at  a  valuation.  For  particulars  as  to  title  and 
conditions  of  sale  apply  to  Henry  Camp,  Solicitor,  Rose- 
mary Street,  Belfast.  Belden  &  Son,  Auctioneprs  and 
Valuators,  Rosemary  Street,  Belfast. 


270 

Here  are  a  few  Seaside  Resort  advertisements  which  I 
copied  from  Belfast  newspapers,  and  which  I  republish  to 
show  how  things  are  done  on  the  other  side  of  the  water:  — 


SEASIDE  RESIDENCES. 

Princess  Gardens,  Marino. 

Delightfully  Situated  House,  Overlooking  Sea,  con- 
taining two  Reception,  seven  Bed  Rooms;  Gardens,  etc. 

Bangor. — Groom  Villa,  Clifton  Road,  to  let;  well  fur- 
nished; 2  Reception,  5  Bed  Rooms,  Dressing  Rooms, 
Bathroom;  overlooking  lough;  magnificent  view,  five 
minutes  from  boat. 

Bangor. — Sea  Front. — Sunnybank,  Seacliff  Road,  to  let, 
furnished  or  unfurnished;  3  sitting  rooms,  5  bedrooms 
(9  beds);  bath,  (h.  &  c.)  cycle  shed;  front  and  side 
gardens. 

Bangor. — Lorelei;  Private  Boardinghouse,  overlooking 
Bay  and  Marine  Gardens;  convenient  to  bathing  and 
train. 

Castlerock. — To  let,  Villa,  furnished;  fronting  sea; 
convenient  to  station;  8  apartments;  bath. 

Furnished  Rooms  to  Let,  Ballycarry  Village,  one  mile 
from  Whitehead;  cooking  and  attendance  if  required. 

Helen's  Bay. — "Seahaven"  to  let,  furnished;  2  reception 
rooms,  5  bedrooms,  bathroom,  etc.,  main  water  supply. 

Helen's  Bay. — To  Let,  furnished,  Skelly  Hill  Cottage; 
6  bedrooms  and  2  sitting-rooms;  five  minutes  walk  from 
station  and  shore. 

Portrush. — Alston  Boarding  House,  Landsdowne  Cres- 
cent; uninterrupted  sea;  private  rooms,  with  board 
(optional). 


271 

Portrush. — Dunard,  Landsdowne  Crescent;  high-class 
Boarding  Residence,  facing  sea  and  Giant's  Causeway. 
Reduced  terms  now. 

Whitehead. — To  Let,  Furnished  House. 


A  loyal  Irishman  wrote  the  following  article  which  I 
clipped  from  a  newspaper.  It  gives  a  general  resume  of 
Ireland  and  contains  information  that  is  worth  knowing: 

"Some  people  believe  that  the  only  thing  in  which  Ireland 
excels  is  in  bogs  and  the  number  of  its  emigrants,  and  even 
among  Irishmen  themselves  the  belief  prevails  that  in 
industry  and  commerce  they  take  a  back  seat. 

"As  a  matter  of  fact  considering  the  dearth  of  capital 
and  political  unrest  under  which  the  Emerald  Isle  labors  she 
has  good  reason  to  be  proud  of  herself.  Handicapped  as 
Ireland  is,  she  can  boast  of  the  largest  shipbuilding  and  the 
largest  brewery  concerns  in  the  world,  of  supplying  half  the 
people  of  these  islands  with  their  linen  collars,  tablecloths, 
handkerchiefs  and  shirts,  of  placing  on  their  breakfast  table 
the  choicest  of  bacon  and  butter — although  these  generally 
masquerade  as  products  of  Wiltshire  and  Dorset— and  of 
beating  the  Scotch  hollow  with  their  famous  John  Jamieson. 

"There  is  nothing  of  which  England  and  Scotland  are 
more  proud  than  their  skill  in  building  ships.  But  neither 
the  Tyne,  the  Clyde  nor  the  Mersey  can  show  anything  equal 
to  the  shipbuilding  yards  of  Harland  &  Wolff  of  Belfast.  Fcr 
four  successive  years  this  firm  held  the  highest  place  in  the 
world  as  regards  the  amount  of  tonnage  launched.  Only  forty 
years  ago  the  factory  was  so  small  that  its  total  of  employees 
amounted  to  less  than  100  men.  At  present  it  employs  9000, 
which  probably  means  that  it  is  the  life  and  suppoit  of  some 
20..000  men,  women  and  children — the  population  of  a  good- 
sized  town. 

"The  works  cover  80  acres  and  include  carpenter  and 
joiner's  shops,  painter's  shops,  cabinetmaker's  shops,  uphol- 


272 

sterer's  shops,  boat-building  sheds,  drying  kilns,  engine  works, 
etc.  All  the  ships  of  the  White  Star  Line  were  built  here, 
including  the  famous  Teutonic  and  Majestic.  The  largest 
vessel  ever  designed  for  commercial  purposes  was  built  and 
launched  here.  Several  gunboats  and  torpedo  boats  also  have 
been  built  by  Messrs.  Harland  &  Wolff  for  the  navy;  and 
cruisers  and  battle-ships  have  been  engined  by  them. 

"Nothing  in  the  nature  of  shoddy  ever  comes  from  Ireland. 
That  is  why  the  Canadian  in  his  Irish  frieze  coat  and 
Donegal  stockings,  defies  the  winter;  why  Balbriggan  hose — 
a  dozen  pair  of  which  would  wear  as  long  as  the  late  Queen's 
reign — are  imitated  by  not  only  English  but  German  manu- 
facturers, why  Irish  tweeds  find  their  way  all  over  the  Con- 
tinent and  why  Irish  stout  has  a  foreign  export  greater  than 
the  total  export  from  England,  Scotland  and  Wales. 

"Guinness'  brewery  hardly  needs  description.  It  is  prob- 
ably the  best  existing  proof  that  all  Ireland  needs  to  make  her 
a  great  industrial  nation  is  a  few  dozen  men  of  capital  and 
energy.  No  commercial  company  in  the  world  can  show  such 
a  record  as  that  of  Guinness'  during  the  past  ten  years.  The 
enormous  trade  of  this  firm  may  be  understood  from  the  fact 
that  their  products  pay  half  a  million  pounds  excise  every 
year.  Although  only  one  of  the  13,000  British  breweries,  they 
produce  one  barrel  in  twenty  of  the  total  British  brew.  They 
have  nine  miles  of  water  mains  and  150  horses;  employ  40 
hands  to  make  barrels,  alone;  2500  hands  altogether  and  have 
a  printing  press  that  turns  out  one  hundred  million  labels 
annually.  And  they  lick  creation  in  making  stout. 

"Another  industry  in  which  Ireland  excels  is  linen  making. 
A  London  outfitter  told  the  writer  that  every  high-class  linen 
shirt,  collar  and  handkerchief  in  the  London  shops  comes  from 
the  North  of  Ireland.  France  has  a  reputation  for  turning  out 
a  finer  quality  than  Belfast  but  the  best  French  goods  aie 
really  Irish  and  that  amusing  story  is  true  of  the  Belfast 
manufacturer's  wife  who  brought  home  some  beautiful  hand- 
kerchiefs from  Paris,  and  asked  her  husband  why  he  couM 
not  make  goods  like  them.  On  examination  he  found  they 


273 

were  part  of  a  lot  he  had  recently  exported.  The  annual  pro- 
duce of  linen  must  be  worth  little  short  of  75,000,000  of  dollars, 
and  the  size  of  the  factories  may  be  known  from  the  fact  that 
two  of  the  chief  Belfast  concerns  employ  SOOO  hands  between 
them. 

"We  may  truly  say  that  whatever  is  Irish  is  good.  Its 
Limerick  and  Waterford  bacon  has  one  rival — Wiltshire;  and 
the  quantities  of  the  Irish  article  consumed  in  England  is  the 
best  proof  of  how  it  is  appreciated.  Unfortunately  some  Irish 
provision  merchants  are,  intentionally  or  otherwise,  leagued 
together  to  defame  Irish  produce;  and  they  sell  the  best 
Irish  bacon  under  the  name  of  Wiltshire,  just  as  they  sell 
thousands  of  tons  of  the  choicest  Irish  butter  as  Dorset  and 
Danish,  while  to  the  inferior  grades  and  no  doubt  to  American 
products,  they  give  the  name  Irish.  Why  do  not  the  Irish 
dairies  combine  with  the  bacon  factories  and  establish  shops 
all  over  London?  If  the  movement  were  universal  we  should 
soon  have  half  of  England  breakfasting  on  Waterford  bacon  and 
Tipperary  butter,  lunching  off  Matterson's  sausages — of  which 
2  ounces  are  equal  to  a  pound  of  London  bread  and  fat — and 
dining  off  Limerick  hams. 

"There  is  one  Irish  product  which  Englishmen  certainly 
appreciate.  England  drinks  three  millions  of  gallons  of  Irish 
whiskey  annually.  Even  Scotland  takes  half  a  million  gallons 
from  Ireland. 

"Probably  Jamieson's  whiskey  is  the  best  distilled  on  the 
whole  globe.  It  is  the  highest  priced  on  the  market,  anyhow, 
and  commands  as  much  as  $2.50  a  gallon  in  bond.  The  produce 
of  this  article  in  Ireland,  however,  does  not  quite  equal  that 
of  Scotland,  chiefly  because  the  Irishman  drinks  only  about 
two-thirds  as  much  whiskey  as  the  Scotchman.  There  are 
27  distilleries  in  Ireland  which  manufacture  nearly  eight 
million  gallons  annually.  Four  milions  they  drink  at  home; 
three  milions  they  send  to  England;  over  half  a  million  to 
Scotland  and  about  a  quarter  of  a  million  direct  to  the  colonies 
and  foreign  countries.  In  eight  years  Ireland  has  contributed 
over  $150,000,000  to  the  excise. 


274 

"One  last  product  let  me  mention.  You  may  go  to  Carrara 
for  marble,  but  if  you  want  the  most  beautiful  green  serpen- 
tine in  the  world  you  will  find  it  in  Galway.  If  you  want  black 
marble  that  cannot  be  equalled  you  can  get  it  from  the  shores 
of  Lough  Corrib.  Nowhere  will  you  find  anything  to  beat  the 
beautiful  red  marble  of  Donegal,  the  blue  and  yellow  marble 
or  Armagh,  the  purple  and  white  of  Cork,  and  the  variegated 
marble  found  in  Kerry,  near  Tralee.  It  is  admitted  that  the 
most  beautiful  stones  in  the  Albert  Memorial,  Hyde  Park 
(London),  are  the  four  specimens  of  Irish  granite,  while  the 
Thames  embankment  is  a  perpetual  illustration  of  Dalkey 
granite." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 
PORTRUSH. 

In  the  good  old  summer  time  when  business  began  to 
slacken  up  somewhat  in  Belfast  and  when  not  a  few  of  its 
residents  had  flitted  to  the  Continent,  to  England,  to  seaside 
resorts  and  to  other  places,  I  pulled  up  stakes  and  flitted  too. 
Portrush,  the  Queen  of  Irish  watering  places  was  my  objective 
point.  I  took  a  tram  and  rode  out  a  long  distance  to  York 
street  where  I  entered  a  railroad  station  and  bought  a  ticket 
for  Portrush. 

The  distance  between  the  two  towns  is  not  great  nor  the 
fare  high  so  I  considered  it  cheaper  to  ride  than  to  walk,  for, 
in  such  a  case,  a  saving  of  time  means  a  saving  of  money.  On 
my  way  up  north  I  passed  some  likely  towns  such  as  Baly- 
mena  and  Coleraine  and  a  host  of  smaller  towns  and  villages; 
by  noon  I  found  myself  in  Portrush. 

As  I  stated,  Portrush  is  called  the  Queen  of  Irish  watering 
places  and  I  think  by  drawing  a  comparison  between  it  and 
the  Queen  of  American  watering  places  the  reader  may  ob- 
tain a  better  impression  of  it. 


275 

According  to  my  prejudiced  notion  Coney  Island,  New 
York,  is  the  Queen  of  American  watering  places.  Coney 
Island  is  less  than  twenty  miles  from  New  York  City,  it  can 
be  reached  in  a  street  car  from  New  York  City  on  payment 
of  a  ten  cent  fare — it  used  to  be  five  cents  only — and  beyond 
all  comparison,  it  is  the  livliest  and  dizziest  place  on  the 
American  continent. 

Being  so  near  to  New  York  and  the  fare  being  so  low, 
Coney  Island  is  the  playground  and  recreation  ground  of  not 
only  the  masses  of  New  York,  but  of  Brooklyn  and  other  sub- 
urban towns  and  cities  as  well,  and  on  a  hot  summer's  day 
the  throngs  are  so  great  that  locomotion  on  Surf  avenue,  the 
main  thoroughfare,  is  difficult. 

And  what  sights  there  are  to  be  seen  along  Coney  Island's 
main  avenue!  Enough  to  bewilder  one.  There  are  huge 
hotels  and  restaurants,  clam  chowder  places  where  you  can 
get  the  real  Coney  Island  clam  chowder  if  you  know  where  to 
go  for  it — there  are  huge  dancing  and  bathing  pavilions, 
moving  picture  shows  by  the  dozen  where  you  may  spend 
hours  by  merely  buying  a  five-cent  drink;  and  a  host  of 
variety  theatres  with  a  free  admission.  Then  there  are  Luna 
Park  and  other  amusement  parks,  shoot-the-chutes,  merry-go- 
rounds  by  the  score,  Ferris  wheel,  observatory,  drinking 
places  by  the  hundred,  candy-pull  booths,  "hot  dog"  empor- 
iums, hot  sandwich  kiosks,  hot  clam  chowder  places  in  open 
boats  with  seats  and  tables  in  them,  a  "Rocky  road  to 
Dublin"  show,  wild  animal  shows,  popcorn,  ice  cream  and 
candy  booths,  stores,  railroad  and  street  car  stations,  country 
villas  and  hotels,  and  a  thousand  and  one  other  attractions 
and  distractions.  On  a  real  hot  day  more  than  half  a  million 
people  visit  Coney  Island  and  there  is  such  a  jam  and  din 
that  you  cannot  hear  yourself  think. 

Portrush  is  totally  different.  It  lies  on  the  Bay  of  Foyle 
(Lough  Foyle)  in  the  extreme  northern  part  of  Ireland,  and 
it  is  a  quiet,  staid  and  orderly  place  that  is  visited  by  the 
more  well-to-do  people  of  England,  Ireland  and  Scotland, 
but  by  the  Irish  mostly.  It  is  a  neat  and  clean  little  city  of 


276 

about  10,000  people,  I  should  judge,  contains  the  usual  High 
street,  and  side  streets,  and  quite  a  number  of  stores  and 
hotels,  rooming  and  boarding  houses  of  all  grades. 

There  are  one  'or  two  theatres  in  the  place,  a  bathing 
beach,  fine  walks  along  the  cliffs  overlooking  the  ocean,  and 
just  a  few  amusements  of  a  minor  character.  And  yet  the 
place  is  very  pretty  and  alluring.  There  are  scenes  around 
and  about  that  are  wild  and  picturesque  and  that  charm  one 
with  their  beauty.  Not  more  than  a  mile  or  two  distant 
is  an  old  castle,  Dunluce  Castle,  which  is  now  in  ruins  and  a 
little  further  on  along  the  coast  stands  the  famous  Giant's 
Causeway  which  is  renowned  in  legend  and  story.  Along  the 
beach  leading  toward  the  Causeway  stand  tall  cliffs  that  are 
honeycombed  with  caves,  in  which,  at  one  time,  smuggleis 
had  their  lairs.  I  was  in  one  or  two  of  these  caves  and  it 
seemed  to  me  that  they  were  naturally  made  for  smuggling 
purposes,  for  they  are  deep,  dark  and  intricate,  and  afford 
splendid  hiding  places.  It  is  possible  that  they  are  used 
today  for  such  purposes.  Who  knows?  There  are  plenty 
of  these  caves  all  along  the  coast.  The  beaches  are  fine,  hard 
and  sandy. 

Dunluce  Castle  stands  on  a  promontory  that  juts  far  out 
into  the  sea  and  was  a  feudal  stronghold  of  considerable 
dimensions  at  one  time,  as  the  ruins  show.  It  had  the  usual 
lower  and  upper  defensive  walls,  a  citadel  or  fort,  flanking 
towers,  a  moat,  drawbridge  and  portcullis;  the  castle  proper 
and  outbuildings,  the  usual  chapel,  ramparts  and  battlements 
and  all  the  other  adjuncts  of  a  stronghold  of  an  early  period. 
But  little  now  remains,  except  a  few  of  the  circular  turrets 
and  the  stone  outbuildings  and  walls. 

Ireland  is  as  old  a  country  as  any,  and  has  had  its  ups 
and  downs.  Not  so  many  years  ago  it  had  more  than  25,000,000 
of  people  but  today  it  has  less  than  5,000,000,  the  majority 
having  emigrated,  many  of  them  to  the  United  States.  There 
is  a  vast  difference  between  the  Irish  in  Ireland  and  the 
Irish  in  the  United  States. 


277 

The  Irishman  at  home  in  the  old  country,  is  civil,  decent, 
respectful  and  mannerly,  and  pleasant  to  come  in  contact  with 
but  after  he  has  been  in  the  United  States  a  while  he  becomes 
Yankeeized  and  a  change  comes  over  his  disposition.  Being 
naturally  assimmilative  he  acquires  the  Yankee  ways  and  is 
as  keen  after  the  dollar  as  anyone.  And  he  gets  them,  too, 
in  one  way  or  another.  He  is  into  all  kinds  of  enterprises,  and 
in  all  of  them  he  makes  good.  You  will  have  to  get  up  pretty 
early  in  the  morning  to  coon  him.  He  is  all  right  and  gets 
along  fine,  thank  you. 

The  Giant's  Causeway  is  a  show  place  that  people  travel 
a  long  ways  to  see,  but  a  syndicate  of  grafters  have  fenced  it 
in  and  charge  an  admission  fee  to  see  it.  As  I  do  not  believe 
in  encouraging  grafting — not  even  a  penny's  worth — I  did  not 
go  to  see  the  Causeway,  but  I  will  give  a  short  description 
of  it  which  I  borrowed  from  an  Irish  source: 

"The  Giant's  Causeway  is  a  remarkable  basaltic  formation 
situated  about  midway  between  the  towns  of  Coleraine  and 
Ballycastle,  near  Portrush.  Its  close  proximity  to  the  inter- 
esting and  now  celebrated  watering-place,  Portrush  has  con- 
tributed to  the  latter  very  excellent  service,  if  only  by  reason 
of  the  number  of  visitors  who  throng  in  the  thousands  every 
year,  not  only  to  acquaint  themselves  with  the  charm  and 
interest  attaching  to  this  district  but  also  to  enjoy  the  invig- 
orating breezes  and  the  almost  unnumbered  pleasures  of 
Portrush  itself.  To  a  great  degree,  the  interest  attached  to 
the  Antrim  Coast  is  due  to  the  evidence  of  the  past,  which 
beyond  doubt  indicates  volcanic  emotion  on  a  vast  scale,  so 
vast,  indeed,  that  the  dark  basaltic  rocks  cover  an  area  of 
many  miles  extending  even  far  beyond  the  country  itself. 
Throughout  this  area  the  basalt  is  found  capping  all  the  emi- 
nences and  constituting  the  general  superstratum  in  beds  of 
an  average  thickness  of  500  feet.  During  the  series  of  vol- 
canic eruptions  the  dark  basalt  has  broken  through  the  sedi- 
mentary chalk  rocks  and  at  frequent  intervals  there  is 
evidence  of  the  latter  being  topped  by  the  dark  basalt, 
thus  giving  a  fine  and  picturesque  effect  by  the  con- 


278 

trast  in  colour.  Distinct  beds  occur  of  these  singular  col- 
umnar formations.  The  Giant's  Causeway  is  formed  of 
about  40,000  of  these  columns.  They  extend  over  a  large  area 
and  form  separate  groups  of  various  shapes,  which  have  been 
named  Lord  Antrim's  Parlor,  The  Stoocans,  The  Little  Cause- 
way, The  Middle  or  Honeycomb,  The  Giant's  Loom,  The 
Giant's  Well,  The  Giant's  Head,  The  Wishing  Chair,  The 
Grand  Causeway,  (which  is  about  700  feet  long  with  pillars 
40  feet  high).  Pleaskin  Head  is  an  important  feature  on  the 
east,  400  feet  high,  with  pillars  40  feet  high." 

I  remained  in  Portrush  a  week  and  during  that  period  got 
to  know  the  place  well.  The  early  morning  was  the  finest 
part  of  the  day,  for  then  the  sun  was  bright  and  clear,  but 
soon  afterward,  clouds  came  up  and  it  was  showery  more  or 
less  all  day.  A  little  rain  water  did  not  hurt  me,  however.  I 
strolled  through  High  street  gazing  into  the  shop  windows 
with  a  never  failing  interest;  I  observed  the  queer  restaurants 
and  the  little  stores  in  the  other  streets;  then  I  would  go  down 
to  the  cute  little  harbor,  or  ship  basin,  with  its  odd  lighthouse, 
or  walk  along  the  beach  toward  Dunluce  Castle  to  hear  what 
the  wild  waves  were  saying  and  to  explore  again  the  smug- 
glers' caves.  Roads  led  out  from  Portrush  into  the  farming 
country  beyond  but  there  was  not  much  to  see  out  that  way. 

The  bathing  beach  at  Portrush  is  a  small  one  with  hard 
sand  and  is  not  much  utilized  by  bathers  except  on  very  warm 
days,  which  are  not  many  along  that  rockbound,  rugged  sea- 
coast  which  lies  far  up  in  the  north.  Along  the  promentory, 
which  is  a  flat  piece  of  table  land  about  half  a  mile  long  arid 
about  as  wide,  there  are  good  pathways  extending  over  the 
sea  where  one  may  catch  invigorating  breezes  and  obtain 
fine  views  of  the  wide  expanse  of  waters,  and  there  too,  one 
may  encounter  the  visitors.  July  and  August  are  about  the 
livliest  months  at  Portrush. 

But  a  fellow  without  money  can't  do  much  in  Portrush 
or  anywhere  else  for  that  matter,  for  he  cannot  mix  in 
society,  go  in  for  amusements,  take  his  best  girl  out  or  have 
much  fun  of  any  kind,  for  he  is  handicapped.  Had  1  been 


279 

able  to  dress  swell  and  to  cut  a  dash  I  believe  I  couid  have 
made  things  a  little  more  interesting  for  some  people  in  Port- 
rush,  but  the  heart  was  kind  of  taken  out  of  me  and  I 
wanted  to  go  home  to  my  mammy.  If  ever  I:  go  to  Ireland 
again — and  I  hope  I  will — it  will  be  with  plenty  of  money  in 
my  purse  and  I  will  go  to  Dublin  and  the  south,  of  Ireland 
which,  I  am  told,  is  the  finest  part  of  the  country. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 
LONDONDERRY. 

Londonderry,  or  Derry  as  it  is  usually  called,  lies  along 
Lough  Foyle  (or  the  River  Foyle,  which  is  an  integral  part  of 
it)  about  twenty-five  miles  southwest  of  Portrush.  It  is  a  fine 
old  city,  and  one  of  the  most  wide-awake  and  progressive  in 
the  northern  part  of  Ireland.  The  progressive  people  in  that 
burg  and  the  Chamber  of  Commerce  have  gotten  out  a  boost- 
ing publication  from  which  I  take  the  following  extracts  that 
afford  useful  information: 

LONDONDERRY  AS  AN  INDUSTRIAL  CENTRE. 

Published  by 

The  Industrial  Development   Committee  of  the   Londonderry 

Chamber   of  Commerce.     With   the  Approval  of  the 

Corporation  of  the  City  of  Londonderry  and 

Londonderry  Port  and  Harbour  Board. 
"When  selecting  a  site  for  a  factory  or  workshop,  select 
one  in  the  Northeast  of  Ireland,  in  or  near  the  city  of  London- 
derry, and  thereby  confer  a  benefit  on  Ireland  and  yourself. 
The  statements  herein  have  been  verified  by  the  American 
Consul,  East  Wall,  Londonderry;  The  French  Consul,  Foyle 
Street,  Londonderry;  the  German  Consul,  Baltic  Buildings, 
Londonderry. 


280 

"We  cordially  invite  and  will  heartily  welcome,  any 
British  or  Foreign  manufacturers  who  may  be  prepared  to 
establish  industries  in  our  district,  and  assure  them  that 
they  will  be  accorded  air  necessary  facilities  and  encourage- 
ment. 

"The  object  of  this  publication  is  to  state  facts  relating 
to  Londonderry  and  district  from  an  industrial  standpoint, 
in  the  hope  of  attracting  manufacturers  to  the  city  and  dis- 
trict by  the  superior  advantages  offered. 

"Londonderry,  the  capital  of  the  northwest  of  Ireland  is 
situated  in  the  populous  and  prosperous  province  of  Ulster, 
and  is  the  fourth  largest  city  in  Ireland.  It  is  the  only  port 
of  any  importance  on  the  North  West  coast,  and  is  within  easy 
distance  by  sea  of  the  chief  centres  of  population  and  indus 
try  in  the  North  West  of  England  and  the  South  West  of  Scot- 
land, with  which  it  is  in  daily  communication  by  regular  steam- 
ship services.  By  rail  it  is  in  communication  with  the  main 
system  in  Ireland. 

"An  intelligent  and  steady  working  population  is  trainee! 
in  habits  of  industry;  for  Londonderry  for  half  a  century  has 
been  one  of  the  principal  seats  of  the  Shirt  and  Collar  busi- 
ness of  the  United  Kingdom. 

"Capitalists  will  find  Londonderry  one  of  the  most 
advanced  and  modern  cities  in  the  country,  with  excellent 
Elementary,  Secondary  and  Technical  Schools  and  College?; 
up-to-date  Municipal  services;  a  quick  and  progressive  popu- 
lation, accustomed  to  organized  industrial  effort,  the  result 
of  long  years  of  application;  spacious  recreation  grounds  and 
parks;  close  proximity  to  seaside  resorts  and  a  low  death 
rate. 

"In  the  surrounding  district  of  the  Counties  Derry,  Done- 
gall  and  Tyrone,  there  is  an  area  largely  undeveloped,  con- 
taining an  abundance  of  cheap  labour  and  considerable  water 
power — an  area  in  touch  with  Londonderry  by  railway  and 
canal,  and  in  which  such  industries  as  have  been  organized 
within  recent  years  have  taken  firm  root  and  flourished 
amazingly. 


281 

"Londonderry-made  shirts  and  collars  are  exported  to  all 
parts  of  the  civilized  world;  so  famous  is  the  manufacture, 
that  in  the  enormous  factories  in  the  city,  and  in  the  cottages 
of  the  surrounding  districts,  employment  is  given  to  over 
60  thousand  people.  Individual  factories  employ  more  than 
4,000  workers,  and  in  connection  with  the  business  and 
kindred  trades,  there  exists  an  extensive  laundry  industry. 

"The  other  industries  of  the  City  comprise  whiskey  dis- 
tilleries (both  pot  and  patent  still),  yeast,  soap,  mineral  water, 
artificial  manures,  biscuit,  fancy  box  and  woolen  and  hosiery 
manufacturies,  grain  and  saw  milling,  brick,  agricultural  im- 
plements, cabinet  and  furniture  making,  coopering,  coach 
building,  engineering  and  foundry  work,  printing  and  litho- 
graphy, book-binding,  bacon-curing,  railway  repairs,  etc.  The 
industries  of  the  surrounding  district  includes  woolen  hosiery 
and  carpet  manufacturies,  flax  spinning,  granite,  quarrying, 
herring  and  mackerel-curing,  etc.,  in  addition  to  shirt  arid 
collar  manufacture. 

"From  the  port  a  large  export  trade  is  done  in  cattle  and 
farm  produce,  pigs,  butter,  eggs,  poultry,  etc.  For  over  half 
a  century  shipbuilding  has  been  carried  on  in  Londonderry. 
Lough  Foyle  is  immediately  on  the  line  of  the  sea  traffic 
passing  the  North  of  Ireland,  and  is  the  most  convenient  har- 
bour for  repairing  injuries  to  vessels  on  or  about  the  North  or 
North  West  Coast., 

"The  best  classes  of  building  stones  are  known  to  occur 
in  many  districts  in  the  Counties  of  Donegal,  Derry,  and 
Tyrone,  in  almost  inexhaustible  quantities.  Donegal  possesses 
large  deposits  of  granites  of  a  variegated  nature;  the  Burton- 
port  District  being  especially  rich  in  granite,  and  it  would 
appear  that  this  district  is  worthy  of  further  development. 
Sandstone  suitable  for  all  kinds  of  architectural  work  occurs, 
and  is  being  quarried  at  Mountcharles,  Co.  Donegal.  Lime- 
stone, Sandstone  and  Whinstone,  are  also  being  quarried  in 
various  parts  of  these  counties.  Brickmaking  materials 
exist  and  are  being  worked  in  different  places  in  these  coun- 
ties. The  principal  localities  are  Burnfoot,  near  Derry  and 


282 

Dungannon  and  Coalisland,  Co.  Tyrone.  Fireclay  goods  and 
pottery  are  -manufactured  in  the  Coalisland  District,  and  at 
Beleek,  Co.  Fermanagh. 

"The  mineral  resources  of  these  counties  are  almost  un- 
developed, and  it  is,  of  course,  difficult  to  say  in  the  absence 
of  proper  and  systematic  prospecting,  whether  many  of  the 
deposits  which  show  signs  of  being  metaliferous  are  of  a 
payable  nature  or  not.  The  deposits  to  which  the  prospector 
might  pay  attention  are  the  coal  deposits  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Coalisland,  C6.  Tyrone;  the  lead  deposits  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Carndonagh,  Co.  Donegal;  the  hematite  deposits  in 
the  Slieve  Gullion  District,  near  Draperstown;  the  steatite 
deposits  at  Crohy  Head  <and  the  Barytes  deposits  near 
Draperstown.  White  sand  of  good  quality  and  suitable  for  the 
manufacture  of  white  flint  glass  occurs  on  Muckish  Moun- 
tain near  Falcarragh,  Co.  Donegal.  Bog  iron  ore  occurs 
chiefly  in  the  Rathmullan  and  Buncrana  district,  Co.  Donegal 
and  is  exported  in  large  quantities  for  use  in  the  purification 
of  gas.  Extensive  salt  deposits  are  worked  at  Carrickfergus 
and  brine  is  found  at  Larne,  Co.  Antrim. 

"Cheap  and  good  water  has  done  much  to  put  the  Lon- 
donderry shirt,  collar  and  laundry  industries  in  the  promi- 
nent position  they  now  occupy.  The  Londonderry  water  rates 
are  amongst  the  lowest  in  the  British  Isles. 

"The  peculiar  circumstances  of  the  Londonderry  labour 
market  give  it  many  advantages  over  other  places  in  the 
matter  of  labour.  Its  situation  on  the  River  Foyle,  in  close 
proximity  to  all  the  great  coal  fields  of  Western  Britain  gives 
Londonderry  a  plentiful  supply  of  cheap  sea-borne  coal.  The 
situation  of  Londonderry  in  the  midst  of  a  rich  argicultural 
district  makes  supplies  of  all  kinds  procurable  at  a  remark- 
ably low  rate. 

"As  surely  as  the  Clyde  made  Glasgow  and  Glasgow  made 
the  Clyde,  the  Foyle  has  made  and  is  making  Londonderry. 
There  is  daily  steamship  communication  between  it  and  the 
great  ports  of  West  England  and  Scotland  and  regular  sail- 
ings to  American  ports. 


283 

"In  the  matter  of  railway  communication  the  City  of 
Londonderry  is  peculiarly  well  situated.  It  is  :served  directly 
or  indirectly  by  the  following  railways:  The  Great  Northern 
Railway  of  Ireland;  The  Midland  Railway  of  England;  The 
Donegal  Railway;  Londonderry  &  Lough  Swilly  Railway; 
Letterkenny  Railway;  Strabane  &  Letterkenny  Railway; 
Glenties  Railway;  Donegal  &  Balbyshannon  Railway;  London- 
derry &  Letterkenny  Railway;  Burtonport  Railway, 
Cardonagh  Railway;  Limavaddy  &  Dungiven  Railway;  Derry 
Central  Railway;  Sligo,  Leitrim  &  Northern  Counties  Rail- 
way. Low  rates  for  traffic  are  secured  by  the  existence  of 
keen  competition.  Belfast  is  less  than  three  hours  and  Dublin 
just  under  four  hours  by  rail  from  Londonderry.  The  city 
possesses  both  rail  and  waterway  communication  to  all  the 
large  sea-port  towns  of  Ireland. 

"The  weekly  wages  for  unskilled  labouring  men  range 
from  $3.00  per  week  upwards.  For  unskilled: boys,  from  $1.00 
to  $1.25  per  week.  Female  labour  is  at  present  altogether 
restricted  to  the  shirt  factories,  the  hosiery  factories,  box- 
making  factories,  laundries  and  the  City  Offices,  in  all  of 
which  the  girls  are  trained  from  between  the  ages  of  14  to 
18,  starting  with  a  wage  of  $1.00  to  $1.25  per  week. 

"According  to  the  last  census  the  population  of  London- 
derry was  39,992.  Of  these  18,265  were  males  and  21,627 
females.  Since  then  the  population  has  substantially  in- 
creased. 

"Not  only  does  Londonderry  enjoy  the  advantage  of  cheap 
produce  and  low  rates,  but  the  rents  of  workmen's  houses 
are  very  reasonable,  as  the  following  table  will  show:  1 
room  house,  35  to  50  cents  per  week;  2  room  house,  35  to  50 
cents  per  week;  3  room  house,  65  to  85  cents  per  week;  4 
room  house,  75  cents  to  $1.25  per  week;  5  to  8  room  houses, 
$1.00  to  $2.00  per  week." 

Gentle  reader,  if  you  want  further  or  more  detailed  infor- 
mation concerning  Londonderry,  write  to  the  Board  of  Trade 
of  that  city  and  ask  them  for  literature.  They  will  be  glad 


284 

to  send  it  to  you,  I  am  sure.  As  I  believe  in  boosting  rather 
than  in  knocking,  I  have  tried  to  help  the  Londonderryites  out 
with  the  few  hints  I  have  re-published  from  their  free  hand- 
book, and  hope  it  will  result  in  some  good.  If  not,  it  has  done 
no  harm,  at  any  rate. 

I  liked  Derry  at  first  sight.  It  is  a  pretty,  wide-awake 
little  burg,  full  of  business  and  go,  and  lies  along  both  banks 
of  the  River  Foyle,  which  empties  into  the  Bay  of  Foyle,  a 
few  miles  below  the  city.  It  is  built  on  hills  and  in  valleys 
amid  well-timbered,  picturesque  surroundings,  and  it  is  an 
old  and  historic  spot  with  a  history  that  is  lost  in  tradition. 
Notwithstanding  its  age  and  venerableness,  it*  is  not  sitting 
down  contentedly  and  saying,  "just  look  at  my  past,  will 
you!"  but  it  is  forging  ahead  and  building  up  and  "boosting" 
in  the  American  style. 

In  the  preceding  pages  I  have  given  an  example  of  its 
methods  of  boosting.  A  town  that  will  help  itself  ought  to  be 
helped  by  others,  and  as  a  fact  that  it  has  been  so  helped, 
its  population  in  the  last  twenty  years  has  more  than  doubled. 
A  number  of  manufacturing  plants  have  been  established 
there,  which  received  special  inducements  to  do  so. 

In  the  good  old  fighting  days  of  yore,  when  people  used 
to  cook  their  meat  by  riding  it  to  death,  Derry  was  surrounded, 
by  a  high,  thick,  stone  wall  to  keep  out  the  invader.  Part  of 
this  wall  still  stands,  as  I  can  testify  to  by  "ocular  demon- 
stheration,"  for  I  have  seen  it  and  walked  on  it.  So  thick  is 
the  wall  that  the  ramparts  have  been  converted  into  a  prom- 
enade, which  is  wide  enough  to  permit  two  carriages  to  pass 
each  other  along  it.  It  is  more  than  twenty  feet  wide,  I  should 
judge,  and  about  as  high.  It  stands  right  in  the  streets  of 
the  town,  but  people,  as  a  rule,  do  not  use  it  as  a  promenade, 
the  sidewalks  below  being  good  enough  for  walking  purposes. 
As  the  majority  of  the  Derryites  have  business  on  the  brain 
and  have  little  inclination  for  sentiment,  they  use  the  street. 
They  have  not  the  time  to  ascend  and  descend  walls  when 
they  can  reach  a  point  quicker  by  walking  along  the  side- 
walk. 


285 

At  Derry  the  River  Foyle  is  about  half  a  mile  wide,  and  as 
the  city  lies  on  both  banks  of  the  stream,  a  handsome  and  sub- 
stantial bridge  has  been  built  across  it,  over  which  a  great 
many  people  and  vehicles  cross  every  day,  for  on  one  side  of 
the  stream  is  the  business  quarter  and  on  the  other  side  is 
the  Tesidence. 

Over  on  the  residence  side  are  many  streets  that  are 
built  on  hillsides,  and  that  are  full  of  dwellings,  shops,  sol- 
diers' barracks,  and  other  rare  and  quaint  structures,  whilst 
further  out  into  the  country  some  extensive  and  handsome 
estates  will  be  found,  which  are  owned  by  noblemen,  wealthy 
manufacturers  and  business  men.  The  hills  almost  every- 
where on  this  side  of  the  river  (as  well  as  on  the  other  side), 
are  lofty,  and  afford  charming  views. 

The  business  section  along  the  water  front,  on  the  left 
hand  side  of  the  stream  as  you  go  down  the  river,  is  like  a 
study  in  the  antique,  for  its  streets  are  old  and  quaint  and  the 
buildings  so  ancient  and  odd,  that  a  stranger  is  apt  to  feel — 
well,  I  don't  know  how  he  would  feel,  but  I  felt  funny. 

Alongside  the  river  runs  a  street  or  lane  that  contains 
old-fashioned  hotels,  lodging  houses  and  business  establish- 
ments of  various  kinds,  including  the  ticket  offices  of  the 
Anchor  Line  and  Allan  Line  of  steamships  that  ply  between 
New  York,  Londonderry  and  Glasgow.  This  street  had  an 
especial  attraction  for  me  because  of  these  steamship  offices. 
In  fact,  it  was  only  because  the  American  liners  touched  at 
Londonderry  that  I  went  to  that  city  to  take  ship  from  there. 

But  I  got  fooled.  The  steamers  don't  come  up  to  Derry, 
but  anchor  off  Moville,  some  miles  below.  When  I  learned 
this  I  became  frantic  with  disappointment,  for  it  was  my  in- 
tention to  work  my  passage  home;  but  how  was  I  to  do  it 
if  the  steamers  did  not  land  at  Derry,  nor  the  companies 
hire  help  at  Derry?  I  was  in  a  quandary  and  wished  I'd 
never  been  born.  I  remained  in  Derry  a  few  days  cogitating 
what  I  had  best  do.  They  were  not  happy  days. 


286 

Stranger,  did  you  ever  have  a  feeling  of  homesickness? 
Did  you  ever  want  to  -go  somewhere,  but  know  of  no  way  to 
get  there? 

That  was  my  fix.  I  was  frantic!  frantic!  frantic!  I  had 
only  a  few  shillings  in  my  pocket,  I  was  a  stranger  in  a 
strange  land,  knowing  not  which  way  to  turn  or  whom  to  see. 
I  was  like  a  cockroach  in  distress  when  it  accidentally  falls 
on  a  hot  stove  and  does  not  know  in  which  direction  to  run. 

After  due  and  careful  deliberation  I  concluded  that  my 
best  plan  would  be  to  return  to  Glasgow  and  bum  around 
there  until  I  could  find  a  way  to  work  my  passage  home. 
Had  I  had  the  gumption,  I  would  have  gone  to  the  American 
Consul  at  Derry  and  asked  him  to  send  me  home,  but  maybe 
he  would  not  have  done  so,  after  all. 

I  secured  passage  to  Glasgow  for  a  small  sum  of  money 
on  a  little  steamer  that  plies  between  Londonderry  and 
Glasgow,  and  when  I  reached  Glasgow  I  remained  there  until 
I  finally  secured,  after  many  trials  and  miseries,  a  job  as 
steward  on  one  of  the  liners. 

Instead  of  waiting  on  others  on  the  ship,  some  one  ougnt 
to  have  waited  on  me,  for  I  was  seasick  nearly  all  the  time, 
but  I  am  over  my  troubles  now.  I  am  at  home  again  and  I 
don't  want  any  more  of  the  sea  in  mine;  not  in  the  steerage, 
anyway,  or  as  an  employe  on  board  a  boat.  If  ever  I  cross  the 
duck  pond  again,  it  will  be  as  a  second  class  passenger  on  a 
big  liner  that  don't  roll  or  heave,  and  if  anyone  thinks  he  can 
get  me  on  any  other  kind  of  a  craft,  he  will  have  to  be  a 
faster  runner  than  I  am. 

My  little  tale  is  unfolded.  Had  I  seen  more  in  "Yerrup," 
maybe  I  could  have  said  more,  but  maybe  I  have  said  too  much 
as  it  is. 

Gentle  reader,  I  doff  my  hat  to  you  and  bid  you  an  revoir. 

THE  END. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


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